The man who shattered her trust is back to protect her... New York Times bestselling author Diana Palmer delivers a breathtaking story of second-chance love.

When Paul Fiore disappeared from Isabel Grayling’s life, he told himself it was for all the right reasons. She was young and innocent, and he was her millionaire father’s lowly employee. Three years on, Paul is the FBI agent assigned to Isabel’s case. Too late, he realizes what life in her Texas mansion was really like back then—and how much damage he did when he left.

Once love-struck and sheltered, Isabel has become an assistant district attorney committed to serving the law, no matter how risky it gets. But right now, the man she can’t forgive is the one thing standing between her and a deadly stalker. She knows Paul won’t hesitate to protect her life with his own. But if she can’t trust herself to resist him, how can she trust him not to break her heart all over again?

Praise for the novels of New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Diana Palmer

“Diana Palmer is a mesmerizing storyteller who captures the essence of what a romance should be.”

—Affaire de Coeur

“The popular Palmer has penned another winning novel, a perfect blend of romance and suspense.”

—Booklist on Lawman

“Readers will be moved by this tale of revenge and justice, grief and healing.”

—Booklist on Dangerous

“Diana Palmer is one of those authors whose books are always enjoyable. She throws in romance, suspense and a good story line.”

—The Romance Reader on Before Sunrise

“Lots of passion, thrills, and plenty of suspense… Protector is a top-notch read!”

—Romance Reviews Today

“A delightful romance with interesting new characters and many familiar faces.”

—RT Book Reviews on Wyoming Tough

Defender
Diana Palmer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

This book is something different. It has new faces, although it’s set in Jacobsville and Comanche Wells, with cameos by old friends. The heroine is the daughter of a multimillionaire. The hero is her father’s head of security for his home and racehorses.

But her life of privilege is not what it seems. A tragic decision leads to what seems the end of her dream of love. Her employment as a new assistant district attorney in Jacobsville is the beginning of a murder investigation in which she, her younger sister and their former head of security—now with the San Antonio FBI office—are entwined. The end of this book is the beginning of her sister’s story, which takes place in Wyoming. I loved doing this story. I hope you will enjoy reading it.

This book is dedicated to our nephew. He leaves behind his wife, Heather, his sister, Kathy, his mother, Kathleen, and two great kids, Austin and Tyler. The boys and I play video games together on Xbox One.

As always, thank you for your kindness over the long years, and your friendship. I am your biggest fan.

Love,

For our sweet nephew Tony Woodall, 1965–2015, who left a hole in our hearts with his passing.

Sweet dreams, sweet boy.

Contents

COVER

BACK COVER TEXT

Praise

TITLE PAGE

Dear Reader

DEDICATION

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EXTRACT

COPYRIGHT

ONE

Isabel Grayling stuck her head around the study door and peered in. The big desk was empty. The chair hadn’t been moved from its position, carefully pushed underneath. Everything on the oak surface was neatly placed; not a pencil wasn’t neatly in a cup; not a scrap of paper was out of line. She let out a breath. Her father wasn’t home, but the desk kept the fanatical order he insisted on, even when he wasn’t here.

She darted out of the office with a relieved sigh and pushed back the long tangle of her reddish-gold hair. Blue, blue eyes were filled with relief. She wrinkled her straight nose, where just a tiny line of freckles ran over its bridge. Her name was Isabel, but only Paul Fiore called her that. To everyone else, she was Sari, just as her sister, Meredith, was always called Merrie.

“Well?” her younger sister, Merrie, asked in a whisper.

Sari turned. The other girl was slender, like herself, but Merrie had hair almost platinum blond, straight and to her waist in back. Her eyes, like Sari’s, were blue, but paler, more the color of a winter sky. Both girls looked like their late mother, who was pretty but not beautiful.

“Gone!” Sari said with a wicked grin.

Merrie let out a sigh of relief. “Paul said that Daddy was going to Germany for a few weeks. Maybe he’ll find some other people to harass once he’s in Europe.”

Sari went up to the shorter girl and hugged her. “It will be all right.”

Merrie fought tears. “I only wanted to have my hair trimmed, not cut. Honestly, Sari, he’s so unreasonable…!”

“I know.” She didn’t dare say more. Paul had told her things in confidence that she couldn’t bear to share with her baby sister. Their father was far more dangerous than either of them had known.

To any outsider, the Grayling sisters had everything. Their father was rich beyond any dream. They lived in a gray stone mansion on acres and acres of land in Comanche Wells, Texas, where their father kept Thoroughbred horses. Rather, his foreman kept them. The old man was carefully maneuvered away from the livestock by the foreman, who’d once had to save a horse from the man. Darwin Grayling had beaten animals before. It was rumored that he’d beaten his wife. She died of a massive concussion, but Grayling swore that she’d fallen. Not many people in Comanche Wells or nearby Jacobsville, Texas, wanted to argue with a man who could buy and sell anybody in the state.

That hadn’t stopped local physician Jeb “Copper” Coltrain from asking for a coroner’s inquest and making accusations that Grayling’s description of the accident didn’t match the head injuries. But Copper had been called out of town on an emergency by a friend and when he returned, the coroner’s inquest was over and accidental death had been put on the death certificate. Case closed.

The Grayling girls didn’t know what had truly happened. Sari had been in high school, Merrie in grammar school, when their mother died. They knew only what their father had told them. They were much too afraid of him to ask questions.

Now, Merrie was in her last year of high school and Sari was a senior in college. Sari had majored in history in preparation for a law degree. She went to school in San Antonio, but wasn’t allowed to live on campus. Her father had her driven back and forth every day. It was the same with Merrie. Darwin wasn’t having either of his daughters around other people. He’d fought and won when Sari tried to move onto the college campus. He was wealthy and his children were targets, he’d said implacably, and they weren’t going anywhere without one of his security people.

Which was why Sari and Paul Fiore, head of security for the Grayling Corporation, were such good friends. They’d known each other since Paul moved down from New Jersey to take the job, while Sari was in her last year of high school. Paul drove the girls to school every day.

He’d wondered, but only to Sari, why her father hadn’t placed them both in private schools. Sari knew, but she didn’t dare say. It was because her father didn’t want them out of his sight, where they might say something that he didn’t approve of. They knew too much about him, about his business, about the way he treated animals and people.

He was paranoid about his private life. He had women, Sari was certain of it, but never around the house. He had a mistress. She worked for the federal government. Paul had told her, in confidence. He wasn’t afraid of Darwin Grayling—Paul wasn’t afraid of anyone. But he liked his job and he didn’t want to go back to the FBI. He’d worked for the Bureau years ago. Nobody knew why he’d suddenly given up a lucrative government job to become a rent-a-cop for a Texas millionaire in a small town at the back of beyond. Paul never said, either.

Sari touched Merrie’s slightly bruised cheek and winced. “I warned you about talking back, honey,” she said worriedly. “I’m so sorry!”

“My mouth and my brain don’t stay connected,” Merrie laughed, but bitterly. Her blue eyes met her sister’s. “If we could just tell somebody!”

“We could, and Daddy would make sure they never worked again,” Sari said. “That’s why I’ve never told Paul anything…” She bit her lip.

But Merrie knew already. She hugged the taller girl. “I won’t tell him. I know how you feel about Paul.”

“I wish he felt something for me,” Sari said with a long sigh. “He’s always been affectionate with me. He takes good care of me. But it’s… I don’t know how to say it. Impersonal?” She drew away, her expression sad. “He just doesn’t get close to people. He dated that out-of-town auditor two years ago, remember? She called here over and over, and he wouldn’t talk to her. He said he just wanted someone to go to the movies with, and she was looking at wedding rings.” She laughed involuntarily. She shook her head. “He won’t get involved.”

“Maybe he was involved, and something happened,” her sister said softly. “He looks like the sort of person who dives into things headfirst. You know, all or nothing. Maybe he lost somebody he loved, Sari.”

“I guess that would explain a lot.” She moved away, grimacing. “It’s just my luck, to go loopy over a man who thinks a special relationship is something you have with a vehicle.”

“It’s a very nice vehicle,” Merrie began.

“It’s a truck, Merrie!” she interrupted, throwing up her hands. “Gosh, you’d think it was a child the way he takes care of it. Special mats, taking it to the car wash once a week. He even waxes it himself.” She glowered. “It’s a truck!”

“I like trucks,” Merrie said. “That cowboy who worked for us last year had a fancy black one. He wanted to take me to a movie.” She shivered. “I thought Daddy was going to kill him.”

“So did I.” Sari swallowed, hard. She wrapped her arms around her chest. “The cowboy went all the way to Arizona, they said, to make sure Daddy didn’t have him followed. He was scared.”

“So was I,” Merrie confessed. “You know, I’m eighteen years old and I’ve never gone on a date with a real boy. I’ve never been kissed, except on the cheek.”

“Join the club,” her sister laughed softly. “Well, one day we’ll break out of here. We’ll escape!” she said dramatically. “I’ll hire a team of mercenaries to hide us from Daddy!”

“With what money?” Merrie asked sadly. “Neither of us has a dime. Daddy makes sure we can’t even get a part-time job to make money. You can’t even live at your college campus. I’ll bet that gets you talked about.”

“It does,” Sari confided. “But they figure our father is just eccentric because he’s so rich, and they let it go. I don’t have any real friends, anyway.”

“Just me,” Merrie teased.

Sari hugged her. “Just you. You’re my best friend, Merrie.”

“You’re mine, too, even if you are my sister.”

Sari drew back. “One day, things will change.”

“You’ve been saying that since we were in grammar school. It hasn’t.”

“It will.”

Merrie touched her cheek and winced. “I told Paul I fell down the steps,” she said, when she noticed her sister’s worried expression.

“I wonder if he believed you,” Sari replied solemnly. “He’s not afraid of Daddy.”

“He should be. I’ve heard Daddy has this friend back East,” Merrie told her. “He’s in with some underworld group. They say he’s killed people, that he’ll do anything for money.” She bit her lower lip. “I don’t want Paul hurt any more than you do. The less he knows about what goes on here when he’s off duty, the better. He couldn’t save us, anyway. He could only be dragged down with us.”

“He wouldn’t let Daddy hurt us, if he knew,” Sari replied.

“So he won’t know.”

“Someone else might tell him,” Sari began.

“Not anybody who works here,” Merrie sighed. “Mandy’s kept house for over twenty years, since before you were born. She knows stuff, but she’s afraid to tell. She has a brother who does illegal things. Daddy told her he could have her brother sent to prison if she ever opened her mouth. She’s afraid of him.” She looked up. “I’m afraid of him.”

Sari winced. “Yes. Me, too.”

“I don’t ever want to get married, Sari,” the younger woman said huskily. “Not ever!”

“One day, you might, if the right man comes along.”

Merrie laughed. “He’s not likely to come along while Daddy’s around, or he’ll be leaving in a body bag in the back of a pickup truck.”

The dark humor in that statement sent them both into gales of laughter.

* * *

Paul Fiore was Italian. He also had a Greek grandmother. It accounted for his olive complexion and thick, jet-black hair and large brown eyes. He was handsome, too, tall and broad-shouldered, muscular without making a point of it. He walked like a panther, light on his feet, and he had a quick mind. He’d been in law enforcement most of his life until he took the job with the Grayling Corporation. He’d wanted to get as far away from federal work—and New Jersey—as he could. Jacobsville, Texas, came close to his ideal place.

He was fond of the girls, Merrie and Sari, and he took charge of the house when Mr. Grayling was out of the country. He could handle any problem that came up. His main responsibility was to keep the girls safe, but he also kept a close watch on the property, especially the very expensive Thoroughbreds Grayling raised for sale.

The housekeeper, Mandy Swilling, was fond of him. She was always baking him the cinnamon cookies he liked so much, and tucking little surprises into his truck when he had to be away on business.

“You’ve got me ruined,” he accused her one morning. “I’ll be so spoiled that I’ll never be able to get along in the world if I ever get fired from here.”

“Mr. Darwin will never fire you,” Mandy said confidently. “You keep your mouth shut and you don’t ask questions.”

His eyes narrowed. “Odd reason to keep a man on, isn’t it?”

“Not around here,” she said heavily.

He stared at her, his dark eyes twinkling. “You know where all the bodies are buried, huh? That why you still have work?”

She didn’t laugh, as he’d expected her to. She just glanced at him and winced. “Don’t even joke about things like that, Mr. Paul.”

He groaned at her form of addressing him.

“Now, now,” she said. “I’ve always called the boss Mr. Darwin, just like I call the foreman Mr. Edward. It’s a way of speaking that Southern folk are raised with. You, being a Yankee…” She stopped and grinned. “Sorry. I meant to say, you, being a northerner, wouldn’t know about that.”

“I guess so.”

“You still sound like a person born up North.”

He shrugged and grinned back at her. “We are what we are.”

“I suppose so.”

He watched her work at making rolls for lunch. She wasn’t much to look at. She was about fifty pounds overweight, had short silver hair and dark eyes, and she was slightly stooped over from years of working in gardens with a hoe. But she could cook! The woman was a magician in the kitchen. Paul remembered his tiny little grandmother, making ravioli and antipasto when he was a child, the scent of flour and oil that always seemed to cling to her. Kitchens were comforting to a child who had no real home. His father had worked for a local mob boss, and done all sorts of illegal things, like most of the rest of his family. His mother had died miserable, watching her husband run around with an endless parade of other women, shuddering every time the big boss or law enforcement came to the front door. After his mother died and his father went to jail for the twentieth time, Paul went to live with his little Greek grandmother. He and his cousin Mikey had stayed with her until they were almost grown. Paul watched Mikey go the same route his father had, attached like a tick to the local big crime boss. His father never came around. In fact, he couldn’t remember seeing his father more than a dozen times before the man died in a shootout with a rival mob.

It was why he’d gone into law enforcement at seventeen, fresh out of high school. He hated the hold crime had on his family. He hoped he could make a difference, help clean up his old neighborhood and free it from the talons of organized crime. He went from local police right up into the FBI. He’d felt that he was unstoppable, that he could fight crime and win. Pride had blinded him to the reality of life. It had cost him everything.

Still, he missed the Bureau sometimes. But the memories had been lethal. He couldn’t face them, not even now, years after the tragedy that had sent him running from New Jersey to Texas on a job tip from a coworker. He’d given up dreams of a home and all the things that went with it. Now, it was just the job, doing the job. He didn’t look forward. Ever. One Day at a Time was his credo.

“Why are you hiding in here?” Mandy asked suddenly, breaking into his thoughts.

“It’s that obvious, huh?” he asked, the New Jersey accent still prevalent even after the years he’d spent in Texas.

“Yes, it is.”

He sipped the black coffee she’d placed in front of him at the table. “Livestock foreman’s got a daughter. She came with him today.”

“Oh, dear,” Mandy replied.

He shrugged. “I took her to lunch at Barbara’s Cafe a few weeks ago. Just a casual thing. I met her at the courthouse. She works there. She decided that I was looking for a meaningful relationship. So now she’s over here every Saturday like clockwork, hanging out with her dad.”

“That will end when Mr. Darwin comes back,” she said with feeling. “He doesn’t like strangers on the place, even strangers related to people who work here.”

He smiled sadly. “Or it will end when I lose my temper and start cursing in Italian.”

“You look Italian,” she said, studying him.

He chuckled. “You should see my cousin Mikey. He could have auditioned for The Godfather. I’ve got Greek in me, too. My grandmother was from a little town near Athens. She could barely speak English at all. But could she cook! Kind of like you,” he added with twinkling eyes. “She’d have liked you, Mandy.”

Her hard face softened. “You never speak of your parents.”

“I try not to think about them too much. Funny, how we carry our childhoods around on our backs.”

She nodded. She was making rolls for lunch and they had to have time to rise. Her hands were floury as she kneaded the soft dough. She nodded toward the rest of the house. “Neither of those poor girls has had a childhood. He keeps them locked up all the time. No parties, no dancing and especially no boys.”

He scowled. “I noticed that. I asked the boss once why he didn’t let the girls go out occasionally.” He took a sip of his coffee.

“What did he tell you?”

“That the last employee who asked him that question is now waiting tables in a little town in the Yukon Territory.”

She shook her head. “That’s probably true. A cowboy who tried to take Merrie out on a date once got a job in Arizona. They say he’s still looking behind him for hired assassins.” Her hands stilled in the dough. “Don’t you ever mention that outside the house,” she advised. “Or to Mr. Darwin. I kind of like having you around,” she added with a smile and went back to her chore.

“I like this job. No big-city noise, no pressure, no pressing deadlines on cases.”

She glanced up at him, then back down to the bowl again. “We’ve never talked about it, but you were in law enforcement once, weren’t you?”

He scowled. “How did you know that?”

“Small towns. Cash Grier let something slip to a friend, who told Barbara at the café, who told her cook, who told me.”

“Our police chief knew I was in law enforcement? How?” he wondered aloud, feeling insecure. He didn’t want his past widely known here.

She laughed softly. “Nobody knows how he finds out things. But he worked for the government once.” She glanced at him. “He was a high-level assassin.”

His eyes widened. “The police chief?” he exclaimed.

She nodded. “Then he was a Texas Ranger—that ended when he slugged the temporary captain and got fired. Afterward he worked for the DA in San Antonio and then he came here.”

He whistled. “Slugged the captain.” He chuckled. “He’s still a pretty tough customer, despite the gorgeous wife and two little kids.”

“That’s what everyone says. We’re pretty protective of him. Our late mayor—who was heavily into drug smuggling on the side—tried to fire Chief Grier, and the whole city police force and fire department, and all our city employees, said they’d quit on the spot if he did.”

“Obviously he wasn’t fired.”

She smiled. “Not hardly. It turns out that the state attorney general, Simon Hart, is Cash Grier’s cousin. He showed up, along with some reporters, at the hearing they had to discuss the firing of the chief’s patrol officers. They arrested a drunk politician and he told the mayor to fire them. The chief said over his dead body.”

“I’ve been here for years, and I heard gossip about it, but that’s the first time I’ve heard the whole story.”

“An amazing man, our chief.”

“Oh, yes.” He finished his coffee. “Nobody makes coffee like you do, Mandy. Never weak and pitiful, always strong and robust!”

“Yes, and the coffee usually comes out that way, too!” she said with a wicked grin.

He laughed as he got up from the table, and went back to work.

* * *

That night he was researching a story about an attempted Texas Thoroughbred kidnapping on the internet when Sari walked in the open door. He was perched on the bed in just his pajama bottoms with the laptop beside him. Sari had on a long blue cotton nightgown with a thick, ruffled matching housecoat buttoned way up to the throat. She jumped onto the bed with him, her long hair in a braid, her eyes twinkling as she crossed her legs under the voluminous garment.

“Do that when your dad comes home, and we’ll both be sitting on the front lawn with the door locked,” he teased.

“You know I never do it when he’s home. What are you looking up?”

“Remember that story last week about the so-called traveling horse groomer who turned up at the White Stables in Lexington, Kentucky, and walked off with a Thoroughbred in the middle of the night?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, just in case he headed south when he jumped bail, I’m checking out similar attempts. I found one in Texas that happened two weeks ago. So I’m reading about his possible MO.”

She frowned. “MO?”

“Modus operandi,” he said. “It’s Latin. It means…”

“Please,” she said. “I know Latin. It means method of operation.”

“Close enough,” he said with a gentle smile. His eyes went back to the computer screen. “Generally speaking, once a criminal finds a method that works, he uses it over and over until he’s caught. I want to make sure that he doesn’t sashay in here while your dad’s gone and make off with Grayling’s Pride.”

“Sashay?” she teased.

He wrinkled his nose. “You’re a bad influence on me,” he mused, his eyes still on the computer screen. “That’s one of your favorite words.”

“It’s just a useful one. Snit is my favorite one.”

He raised an eyebrow at her.

“And lately you’re in a snit more than you’re not,” she pointed out.

He managed a smile. “Bad memories. Anniversaries hit hard.”

She bit her tongue. She’d never discussed really personal things with him. She’d tried once and he’d closed up immediately. So she smiled impersonally. “So they say,” she said instead of posing the question she was dying to.

He admired her tact. He didn’t say so, of course. She couldn’t know the memories that tormented him, that had him up walking the floor late at night. She couldn’t know the guilt that ate at him night and day because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time when it really mattered.

“Are you okay?” she asked suddenly.

His dark eyebrows went up. “What?”

She shrugged. “You looked wounded just then.”

She was more perceptive than he’d realized. He scrolled down the story he was reading online. “Wounded. Odd choice of words there, Isabel.”

“You’re the only person who ever called me that.”

“What? Isabel?” He looked up, studying her softly rounded face, her lovely complexion, her blue, blue eyes. “You look like an Isabel.”

“Is that a compliment or something else?”

“Definitely a compliment.” He looked back at the computer screen. “I used to love to read about your namesake. She was queen of Spain in the fifteenth century. She and her husband led a crusade to push foreigners out of their country. They succeeded in 1492.”

Her lips parted. “Isabella la Catolica.”

His chiseled lips pursed. “My God. You know your history.”

She laughed softly. “I’m a history major,” she reminded him. “Also a Spanish scholar. I’m doing a semester of Spanish immersion. English isn’t spoken in the classroom, ever. And we read some of the classic novels in Spanish.”

He chuckled softly. “My favorite was Pio Baroja. He was Basque, something of a legend in the early twentieth century.”

“Mine was Sangre y Arena.”

“Blasco Ibáñez,” he shot back. “Blood and Sand. Bullfighting?” he added in a surprised tone.

She laughed. “Yes, well, I didn’t realize what the book would be about until I got into it, and then I couldn’t put it down.”

“They made a movie about it back in the forties, I think it was,” he told her. “It starred Tyrone Power and Rita Hayworth. Painful, bittersweet story. He ran around on his saintly wife with a woman who was little more than a prostitute.”

“I suppose saintly women weren’t much in demand in some circles in those days. And especially not today,” she added with a wistful little sigh. “Men want experienced women.”

“Not all of them,” he said, looking away from her.

“Really?”

He forced himself to keep his eyes on the computer screen. “Think about it. A man would have to be crazy to risk STDs or HIV for an hour’s pleasure with a woman who knew her way around bedrooms.”

She fought a blush and lost.

He saw it and laughed. “Honey, you aren’t worldly at all, are you?”

“I’m alternately backward or unliberated, to hear my classmates tell it. But mostly they tolerate my odd point of view. I think one of them actually feels sorry for me.”

“Twenty years down the road, they may wish they’d had your sterling morals,” he replied. He looked up, into her eyes, and for a few endless seconds, he didn’t look away. She felt her body glowing, burning with sensations she’d never felt before. But just when she thought she’d go crazy if she didn’t do something, footsteps sounded in the hall.

“So there you are,” Mandy exclaimed. “I’ve looked everywhere.” She stared at them.

Paul made a face. “Do I look like a suicidal man looking for the unemployment line to you?” he asked sourly.

Both women laughed.

“All the same, don’t do that when your dad’s home,” she told Sari firmly.

“I never would, you know that,” Sari said gently. “Why were you looking for me?”

“That girl at college who can’t ever find her history notes wants to talk to you about tomorrow’s test.”

“Nancy,” she groaned. “Honestly, I don’t know how she passed anything until I came along! She actually called up one of our professors at night and asked if he could give her the high points of his lecture. He hung up on her.”

“I’m not surprised,” Paul said. “Better go answer the questions, tidbit,” he added to Sari.

“I guess so,” she said. She got off the bed, reluctantly. The way he’d looked at her had made her feel shaky inside. She wanted him to do it again. But he was already buried in his computer screen.

“There was an attempted horse heist just two days ago up near San Antonio,” he was muttering. “I think I’ll call the DA up there and see if he’s made any arrests.”

“Good night, Paul,” Sari said as she left the room.

“Night, sprout. Sleep well.”

“You, too.”

* * *

Mandy led her into the kitchen and pointed to the phone.

“Hello, Nancy?” Sari said.

“Oh, thank goodness,” the other girl rushed. “I’m in such a mess! I can’t find my notes, and I’ll fail the test…!”

“No worries. Let me get mine and I’ll read them to you.”

“You could fax them…”

“You’d never read my handwriting,” Sari laughed. “Besides, it will help me remember what I need for tomorrow’s test.”

“In that case, thanks,” Nancy said.

“You’re welcome. Give me your number and I’ll call you back. I’ll have to hunt up my own notes.”

Nancy gave it to her and hung up.

Sari came back down with the notes she’d retrieved from her bulky book bag. She phoned Nancy from the kitchen, where Mandy was cleaning up, and read the notes to her. It didn’t take long.

“I’ll see you in class,” Nancy said. “And thanks! You’ve saved my life!” She hung up.

“She says I saved her life,” Sari said, chuckling.

Mandy gave her a glance. “If you want to save two lives, you’ll stay out of Mr. Paul’s bedroom.”

“Mandy, it’s perfectly innocent. The door’s always open when I’m in there.”

“You don’t understand. It’s how it looks, that easy familiarity between you two. It will carry over to other times, in daylight. If your father sees it, even thinks that there might be something going on…”

“I don’t do it when he’s here.”

“I know that. It’s just…” She grimaced. “I don’t know where he put all the cameras.”

Sari’s heart jumped. “What cameras?”

“He had it done while you girls were at school. He had three security cameras installed. He sent me out of the house on an errand while they were put in place. I don’t know where they are.”

“Surely he wouldn’t have them put in our bedrooms,” Sari began worriedly.

“There’s no telling,” Mandy said. “I only know that he didn’t put one in here. I’d have noticed if anything was moved or displaced. Nothing was.”

Sari chewed on a fingernail. “Gosh, now I’ll worry if I talk in my sleep!”

“The cameras are why you should stay out of Mr. Paul’s bedroom. Besides that,” she added under her breath, “you’re tempting fate.”

“I am? How?” Sari asked blankly.

“Honey, Mr. Paul takes a woman out for a sandwich or a quick dinner. He never goes home with them.”

Sari flushed with sudden pleasure.

“My point is,” the older woman went on, “that he’s a man starved of…well…satisfaction,” she faltered. “You might say something or do something to tempt him, is what I’m trying to say.”

Sari sighed and rested her face on her palms, propped on her elbows. “That would be a fine thing,” she mused. “He’s never even touched me except to help me out of a car,” she added on a wistful sigh.

“If he ever did touch you, your father would be sure to hear about it. And I don’t like to think of the consequences. He’s a violent man, Sari,” she added gently.

“I know that.” Her face showed her misery. She was too innocent to hide her responses.

“So, don’t tempt fate,” Mandy said softly. She hugged the younger woman tight. “I know how you feel about him. But if you start something, he’ll be out on his ear. And what your father would do to you…” She drew back with a grimace. “I love Mr. Paul,” she added. “He’s the kindest man I know. You don’t want to get him fired.”

“Of course I don’t,” Sari replied. “I promise I’ll behave.”

“You always have,” Mandy said with a tender smile. “It all ends, you know,” she said suddenly.

“Ends?”

“Misery. Unrequited love. Even life. It all ends. We live in pieces of emotion. Pieces of life. It doesn’t all get put together until we’re old and ready for the long sleep.”

“Okay, when you get philosophical, I know it’s past my bedtime,” Sari teased.

Mandy hugged her one last time. “You’re a sweet child. Go to bed. Sleep well.”

“You, too.” She went to the doorway and paused. She turned. “Thanks.”

“What for?”

“Caring about me and Merrie,” Sari said gently. “Nobody else has, since Mama died.”

“It’s because I care that I sometimes say things you don’t want to hear, my darling.”

Sari smiled. “I know.” She turned and left the room.

* * *

Mandy, older and wiser, saw what Sari and Paul really felt for each other, and she worried at the possible consequences if that tsunami of emotion ever turned loose in them.

She went back to her chores, closing the kitchen up for the night.

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