Let your brother go. He’s dead. And I’m alive. About the Author Scandals! Title Page CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE CHAPTER THIRTEEN CHAPTER FOURTEEN CHAPTER FIFTEEN CHAPTER SIXTEEN CHAPTER SEVENTEEN CHAPTER EIGHTEEN AUTHOR NOTE Copyright

Let your brother go. He’s dead. And I’m alive.

There was a ruthless truth in what Annabel Parker had said.

The hell of it was he still wanted her. And he’d have her. Why not? She’d handed him the choice of passion with her if he let his passion for truth go. More might come out of it than she planned on giving him. If he walked away he’d be left burning with frustration on every level.

A grim laugh graveled from his throat. If nothing else, he’d have a sexual experience worth having. At least he’d be satisfied on that score.

They were both booked in for six more days at this resort. Six nights. He’d take them and no more, he decided. He was not about to lose his soul to Annabel Parker. He could be every bit as ruthless as she when it came to self-preservation.

Initially a French/English teacher, EMMA DARCY changed careers to computer programming before marriage and three lively sons settled her into community life. Very much a people person, always interested in relationships, she finds the challenge of creating new stories highly addictive. Her first novel for MIRA Books will be published in October 1997. THE SECRETS WITHIN is Emma Darcy at her most daring.

Scandals!

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A VERY PUBLIC AFFAIR (#1912)

by

Sally Wentworth

All will be revealed in October 1997

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Seducing The Enemy

Emma Darcy

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CHAPTER ONE

HE’S dead.

The thought gave Annabel Parker intense satisfaction as she reread the killing summary of her article for the Australian National. She’d nailed Barry Wolfe to the wall this time. The long-time powerbroker in state politics and current finance minister couldn’t dodge these facts and figures. No need to add another word to what she’d written. Everything pointed directly to him.

Annabel smiled over the headline she’d chosen—“Pattern of Corruption.” There was a purity in patterns that couldn’t be obscured by personalities. The flamboyant and charismatic Barry Wolfe had fooled the public for too many years. The man oozed charm. One flash of his raffish grin and they fell in a heap, believing him, forgiving him, loving him. Accountability was well overdue.

She didn’t have the smoking gun, but the overwhelming bank of circumstantial evidence should land him straight into the courtroom of the commission into corruption. He’d need more than his handsome face and silver tongue to extract himself from that legal body. For one thing, the presiding judge was not a susceptible female.

It would be interesting to see if Daniel Wolfe, Q.C., would step in to defend his brother. The two men were poles apart, one embracing the law, the other holding it in contempt. The famous barrister had made his reputation winning unwinnable cases. It was said he could turn black into white. Nevertheless, Annabel very much doubted that even the highly skilled and formidable Daniel from the Sydney law courts could rescue his brother from the lions and resurrect a political career that was so deeply set in mire.

He’s dead.

Annabel was certain of it.

Having spent months following the money trails of dubious deals, and all this evening making every word count, she felt a sense of completion as she stapled the pages of the final printout together and locked the political dynamite in her filing cabinet.

Working from home had its advantages, but it meant the article would not be handed to her editor until tomorrow. Nevertheless, it was easy to imagine his elation over breaking such a high-ranking scandal. He’d be clearing the decks to use it for maximum impact.

Selling newspapers was not important to Annabel. Getting rid of corruption was. People like Barry Wolfe lined their own pockets while they sold their country down the drain. A complete shake-up was needed in the finance department. Ideally, her article would help to clean up the system of management and put some economic sanity back into the handling of public funding.

She was about to switch off the computer when her desk phone rang. The clock read ten forty-two. The late hour of the call brought an automatic frown, an unease.

Isabel...

Instinct identified her twin sister as the caller even before Annabel lifted the receiver. Her sixth sense picked up trouble, big trouble!

“Anna...” A desperate, frantic cry.

“Yes. What’s the problem, Izzie?” The automatic adoption of their childhood names for each other affirmed the special link that had always been theirs.

“He’s dead!”

The echo of her own thoughts rocked Annabel momentarily.

“He’s dead, and I don’t know what to do.”

Panic coming at her in waves. Annabel steadied her whirling mind. It had to be Isabel’s husband. “Neil?”

“Oh, God! Neil will throw me out. He’ll take our children from me. He’ll never let me see them again.” Hysteria breaking into wild sobbing.

Not Neil. Not family. A victim of a car accident? “Isabel!” She shouted to snap her sister back to the immediate problem. “Who is dead?”

It sobered her. “You’ll despise me.” Fear shaking through the evasion.

“Nonsense! I can’t help you if you don’t give me the facts. Where are you? What’s happened? Who’s dead?”

The firm demands succeeded in cutting through the emotional chaos at the other end of the line. Deep shuddering breaths, then, “I... I’m at a motel near you. The...the Northgate. We’re in room twenty-eight.”

Shock. Her straightlaced twin with a man in a motel? Neil Mason would certainly go off his brain. An adulterous wife would make a mockery of the family values he espoused for his political platform.

“It must have been a heart attack,” Isabel cried. “I wanted to call it off. We were arguing and he...he clutched his chest and collapsed. I gave him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. I tried everything I could think of.”

“How long since he collapsed?”

“Fifteen, twenty minutes...”

“You’re sure he’s dead?”

“I couldn’t get anything going again. No pulse. No breathing. Nothing. He was dead within seconds.”

Too late for paramedics to revive him now. Dead was dead, and discovery could wait. It wouldn’t make any difference to the man. The need to protect her twin surged to the fore.

“Get out of there, Izzie. Walk to my apartment—it’s safer than catching a cab—and I’ll take you home,” she instructed strongly, seeing no sense in her sister’s life being destroyed when there was no possibility of saving her lover.

Another burst of sobbing. “It’s no use. Someone took a photograph of us. I can be identified. Will you come and...and stand by me, Anna? I can’t face it alone.”

Annabel’s heart sank. “He’s a married man?” It was all she could think of—a wife having her husband trailed by a private investigator, taking a photograph to prove infidelity. If she was the vindictive type, the fatal affair could blow up into one hell of a scandal with Neil Mason’s wife involved.

“No. He’s not married,” came the gulping reply.

“Then why the photograph?” It made no sense.

“I don’t know. I was frightened. I wanted to leave. We had a fight. He laughed at me, saying one bell was as good as another. Whatever that meant. It all turned ugly and then—then...”

Some kind of set-up? Blackmail? Someone out to tarnish Neil’s puritanical policies? Or... A weird feeling of premonition crawled down Annabel’s spine.

The motel was only a few streets from where she lived in North Sydney. Her sister lived right across the city at Brighton-Le-Sands. With so many motels stretching over that distance, why come anywhere near her?

“Who’s your dead Romeo, Izzie?”

“I know you thought he was crooked, Anna, but he was so—so...”

“Who?” she asked, the premonition jagging into her heart. One bell as good as another. Isabel, Annabel, identical twin sisters, the same rippling cloud of distinctive red hair, green eyes, every physical feature such a close match. A photograph of either one of them could be mistaken for the other. “Tell me his name. Now!” she commanded tersely.

“Barry Wolfe.”

CHAPTER TWO

“HE’S dead?”

Shock and incredulity forced the question, even though Daniel Wolfe had no reason to disbelieve the journalist on the other end of the line. Jack Mitchell was a reputable and reliable reporter, not given to sensationalism for the sake of it. In interviews Daniel had given him on various court cases he had always quoted accurately. The call was a friendly gesture, a warning of what was to come. It just seemed inconceivable that Barry was dead.

“It happened at the Northgate Motel.” Information delivered matter-of-factly, leaving no room for doubt. “It’s not far from where you are at Neutral Bay.”

Daniel took a deep breath, trying to get himself on an even keel. “Yes. I know it.” A long, Spanish-style complex leapt to mind. Near a set of lights.

“He was with a woman. I don’t know the details yet, but he wouldn’t be the first guy who screwed himself to death, Daniel.”

“A heart attack?” Still incredible. Barry was a fitness freak. He’d run in the Sydney city-to-surf race only a fortnight ago. Being in good shape—attractive shape—was important to him.

“Sounds like it. There’s been no suggestion of foul play. The motel manager notified the cops of his death. I’m on my way to the Northgate now. It’s big news, Daniel. You’ll be getting other calls.”

“Yes.” As the other high-profile member of the family, he would certainly be a target for comment. “Thanks for...for preparing me.”

“Sorry to give you the news, but there it is.”

“Decent of you.”

He put the receiver down slowly, his mind dazedly groping towards accepting the facts. His finger pressed the button activating the answering machine. Better not take any more calls until he’d thought this through.

Barry dead. At only forty-two. The prime of life.

Daniel shook his head. There had always been something Peter Pan-ish about Barry, a perky, irrepressible vitality that could skate out of any trouble, a devil-may-care grin on his face, a daring twinkle in his eyes. It was almost impossible to imagine death catching him. It must have sneaked up on him, without warning. That it should come while he was with a woman... Daniel grimaced. Whose woman was the question.

It had to be a woman who was publicly attached to another man. Why else a motel? Barry’s tom-catting had always been indiscriminate. No respect whatsoever for wedding rings. Nothing he did on the sexual front could surprise Daniel, but these circumstances would almost inevitably lead to a muckraking scandal.

His father would hate it.

Barry’s mother would probably laugh and say it was a fitting climax for the dear boy’s life, taking his pleasure to the end. Having been through four husbands, Marlene was enjoying a succession of toy boys and would undoubtedly fancy going out the same way.

Daniel didn’t anticipate deep grieving from either parent. Vexation and titillation respectively. A sad reflection of Barry’s place in their lives. It wasn’t fair, Daniel thought, as he’d often thought over the years, seeing the careless treatment of Barry by his self-indulgent mother and the cool toleration dealt out to him by his father. It wasn’t Barry’s fault he had been a mistake to both of them. Though there was no denying he’d developed plenty of faults of his own along the way to this final, fatal night.

Nevertheless, it felt wrong to do nothing when all the vultures would be gathering to pick at the juicy bits attached to Barry’s death. He should be there, at the motel, monitoring what was happening, insisting on some dignity to the proceedings. Death was so damned naked, respecting nothing. Maybe he could do something for the woman, as well. No one deserved to be stripped in public.

The answering machine beeped an incoming call. Daniel left it to play itself out, striding quickly out of his private library office where he’d been studying the brief for tomorrow’s court appearance. He knew what he needed to know for the line of questioning he’d chosen. Tomorrow’s work could wait upon tomorrow. Tonight he owed to Barry. Someone should care, and there was no one else.

It was getting on towards midnight by the time Daniel forced his way through the bedlam outside the motel, police cars, television news vans, reporters and photographers pressing for whatever story angles they could grab, not to mention a crowd of curious spectators drawn by the unusual activity. Daniel headed for the police cordon keeping people from the ambulance, which was backed up to a room midway along one of the motel’s residential wings. Having identified himself to one of the officers, he was immediately escorted inside.

The next ten minutes were a blur. The only thing that really registered was the certain knowledge Barry was truly gone. The life that had made the person he knew so well was not there any more. The ambulance men wheeled the stretcher away, and under Daniel’s watchful eye, a proper decorum was maintained in the immediate vicinity until the departure of the ambulance could be effected.

The woman had been moved to an adjoining room. Daniel was asked by the police officer in charge if he would like to hear her statement, which was about to be taken. Determined to know the worst and deal with it as best he could, he quickly agreed.

His heart plummeted when he saw who the woman was. Isabel Mason! The supposedly purer-than-snow wife of the most vocal family-values politician in the current government. Barry was certainly going out with a bang! This scandal would reach epic proportions.

It amazed him that she looked so composed, sitting calmly at a table, sipping at a cup of tea or coffee. He would have expected her to be in floods of tears, or at least showing some signs of distress. Her hand wasn’t even trembling. A policewoman sat by her, but it seemed to Daniel no comfort was required.

“Miss Parker?”

Isabel Mason looked directly at the chief officer, as though it was she being addressed.

“Are you ready now?”

She was being addressed! Daniel frowned. Did she think she could get away with giving a false name?

“Yes.” A crisp consent. She glanced pointedly at Daniel, clearly wanting him identified.

“The deceased’s brother, Daniel Wolfe,” the police officer obliged. Then with an introductory wave, “Miss Annabel Parker.”

Annabel Parker? The journalist who’d been snapping at Barry’s heels over his dubious dealings? She was a dead ringer for Isabel Mason!

Then she looked at him directly, and twin bolts of green fire zapped his brain. It was a fierce mental blast, hurling him off into a far space where he existed only as some infinitesimal speck, too insignificant to claim her attention. Absolutely no help was required by this woman. Having disposed of him, she returned her gaze to the chief police officer and started her account of her meeting with Barry.

Daniel sat down. She certainly wasn’t Isabel Mason. She had the same glorious red hair, rippling down to swirl around her shoulders. And the same features, though there was something stronger about the bone structure of her face, a cleaner, sharper definition. The most striking difference came from within. This woman’s mind had a brutal force that was light-years removed from the soft, pliable femininity he’d seen emanating from Neil Mason’s wife.

He watched her mouth as she spoke. Words were shaped with precision, her lips firmly sculptured, not a trace of quivering uncertainty. He listened to what she said, fascinated by the cool, clear logic of her story. Brick by brick, she laid a convincing foundation for her convincing conclusion. It was a formidable performance.

He’d no sooner thought the word performance than she looked at him again, another stunning blaze that dared him to challenge anything she said. It promised she’d wipe the floor with him.

Daniel said nothing. He was too intrigued to want to do anything but watch her. She was magnificent. A unique entity. He’d never met anyone like her.

She wore black, a ribbed sweater that moulded superbly rounded breasts. A short, narrow skirt revealed long, shapely legs, sexily emphasised in black tights. She was tall, a good fit for him. What would it feel like to be entwined with a woman who was fired with an incredible store of secret energy? That could be an adventure worth having.

He’d like to know the rest of her, too.

She had everyone else bluffed.

Barry couldn’t have done it better himself, and he’d been a genius at sliding out of sticky spots. The story was completely sanitised of sex. The only scandal emerging from it would be a political one, and that had been brewing anyway.

Bravo, Annabel Parker!

The truth—whatever it was—was successfully skittled.

Daniel knew she was lying.

CHAPTER THREE

FREEDOM...

Annabel heaved a contented sigh. It was marvellous not to be constantly on guard. She revelled in the sense of tranquillity that flowed from this beautiful place in far north Queensland, thousands of kilometres away from the frenzy of scandals still breaking in Sydney. From this corner of her cabin, where only an insect screen separated her from the primitive splendour on view, she could gaze out over the lush rainforest to the sea and feel blissfully removed from the corrupt touch of mankind.

It was an illusion, of course. The cabin was part of a wilderness tourist resort built to capitilise on precisely this feeling. Nevertheless, great care had been taken to nestle it into the environment. None of the buildings was intrusive. They didn’t spoil. This was the only place on the planet where two world heritage wonders met—the Great Barrier Reef and the Daintree Rainforest—and the Coconut Beach Rainforest Resort offered the experience of both within a context of personal comfort.

The only sounds were made by birds and animals. No television or telephones in the guest accommodation. No newspapers. Even the people here went about their activities in a quiet and unobtrusive manner. Peace...sheer heaven to Annabel.

The weeks since Barry Wolfe’s death had been hectic and highly stressful. Thankfully, that was all behind her—the frantic substitution of herself for Isabel at the motel on that fatal night, the tension involved in giving a formal statement to the police, the seemingly endless inquisition by the media. Annabel felt she had more than earned this escape from the pressure of having to perform.

Izzie was surely safe now. They could both relax. If the photograph taken of her twin sister and Barry Wolfe entering the motel room could have disproved Annabel’s account of events, it would have surfaced when the news was hot. Or been used for blackmail before this. The danger was gone. Neil Mason would never find out that his wife had flirted with infidelity. Barry Wolfe was dead and buried.

Annabel ruefully reflected that she hadn’t wished him dead in the physical sense, yet she couldn’t regret his passing. The world was a cleaner place for it. Getting cleaner by the day down in Sydney, where the cover-ups were unravelling without any assistance from her.

Maybe it had been overly squeamish of her not to capitalise on the article she had written. Her editor had almost been frothing at the mouth for it. She’d worked so hard at putting the Barry Wolfe corruption story together, and it had probably been unprofessional not to go through with it, yet when it came to the point of deciding on publication the morning after his death, it had felt like overkill—brutal, unfeeling, unnecessary.

The man was dead. Not only that, she and her sister had been caught up in the circumstances surrounding his death. It made it all too personal, somehow. Besides, there was no moral gain in a public demolition of Barry Wolfe’s career when that career had died with him.

Definitely overkill.

She didn’t need that kind of professional kudos. She had only ever wanted the truth to come out so the corruption would come to an end. Which it had.

Although she had held back the damning article, she had been pressed into referring to her work on it, with the media demanding the reason for her meeting with Barry Wolfe in what was perceived as a clandestine manner. That in itself, plus details of her research, had raised enough questions to trigger an investigation.

Ironically, the finance minister’s death had exposed his cronies in corruption. Without his strong front to protect them, they were scrambling to explain their activities to the new minister, who was demanding accountability in no uncertain terms.

But Annabel didn’t have to think about any of it any more. The desired result had been achieved. She could breathe in this gloriously fresh air and simply enjoy herself.

Twilight was bleaching the sea of colour. It was time to walk down to the Long House near the beach for dinner. Although the paths were adequately lit, she preferred to go before darkness fell, to savour the ambience of the forest around her in its softer evening mood.

Her cabin was situated high on the hill, perched on stilts to counter the steep gradient. When she had arrived yesterday, the porter had commented on its isolation, wondering if it worried her. Annabel smiled over his concern as she locked the door behind her and started down the steps from the porch. Being left alone was precisely what she wanted.

The path that served her cabin also wound around the next, which was seven or eight metres distant and at a slightly lower level. Yesterday it had been vacant. The door opened as she was about to pass by, drawing her curiosity. New guests or one of the staff?

The man who emerged blasted her light-heartedness. Recognition was instant, rocking her with shock. Her feet faltered to a halt. The smile lingering on her lips sagged into a gasp of dismay. Her mind reeled against accepting the reality of his physical presence here.

“Good evening,” he said, offering the casual grace of a fellow guest, lending substance to the form, chasing away any chance he was a mirage.

Daniel Wolfe!

Barry Wolfe’s brother!

In the cabin next to hers!

Annabel couldn’t believe in coincidence. A convulsive shiver ran down her spine as she remembered him sitting in the motel room while her statement was taken down by the police, watching her recount how and when his brother had died and what she’d done about it. He hadn’t said a word, but his eyes had drilled into her with riveting concentration, raising the eerie sense that she was the accused in a witness box.

The fire in her belly to see real justice done had surged into a blaze of challenge that seared a silent but highly electric path between them. Not me, my friend. Her eyes had spoken in fierce rebuttal of anything he could do to her. You won’t get to me any more than your brother did.

He hadn’t then.

She hadn’t let him.

But now?

“Good evening,” she returned, struggling to mount defences and establish a calm stand-off in this surprise encounter.

His mouth curved into a whimsical smile. “We have been introduced.”

She summoned up an ironic response. “I remember it well.”

His eyes didn’t smile. Neither did hers. They appraised each other in a silence that sizzled with undercurrents.

In the days after his brother’s death, Annabel had been highly conscious of Daniel Wolfe, reading his reported comments with considerable apprehension and watching him interviewed on television. He didn’t raise questions. He posed no problem to her. Yet still she had felt a threat, as she did now.

The camera had reflected the austere elegance of the man, the strong, classically-boned face, the touch of grey at the temples lending a distinguished air to conventionally cut coal-black hair, the tall, broad-shouldered physique clothed in tailored perfection, the aura of control that came with sharply honed intelligence. It had not captured the cold blast of his power to dominate.

Warm charm had been Barry Wolfe’s personal trademark.

His brother exuded icy, unshakable command.

A wolf in sheep’s clothing tonight, Annabel thought, dismissing the casual image of blue jeans and a dark red sports shirt. The pretence of being on vacation did not wear with her. The laserlike grey eyes were at work trying to strip her of control and strike at any vulnerability he could find.

Her white pants-suit felt flimsy. She needed a steel-plated coat of armour against this man. The soft balminess of the evening suddenly developed a chill. Her arms prickled with goose bumps, despite the long-sleeved overblouse she’d worn in case it was cooler on the walk to her cabin after dinner.

“I much prefer the circumstances of this meeting,” he said, as though offering her a truce.

“I was thinking what a small world it is,” she replied, the suspicion growing that he had followed her here. Which meant he’d had her under surveillance. For what purpose? was the million-dollar question.

“Growing smaller all the time,” he agreed. “Do you mind if I walk with you?”

She shrugged. “Why not?” Better to have him beside her than behind her.

She got her feet working again, and he caught up with her in a few strides. They settled into an easy stroll. The path zigzagged down the hill and was wide enough for there to be no difficulty in avoiding contact. Annabel kept well apart from her unwelcome companion, too intensely aware of him for her comfort. He emanated a more aggressive maleness than she’d met in any other man. It was unnerving, giving the feeling she was threatened on more than one level.

Why did he, of all men, make her feel overly conscious of being a woman? No one could ever have described her as a fragile flower. She was well above average height, with a frame that held generous curves in pleasing proportion and long legs that were strong and athletic from regular gym workouts. His legs, she couldn’t help noticing, were longer and stronger, and he was a head taller than she was. Everything about him seemed to put her at a disadvantage.

“Is your sister here, too?”

He asked the question lightly, a seemingly innocuous inquiry. Annabel’s inner tension leapt to red alert. Why would he ask about Isabel? To all intents and purposes she and her twin led very separate lives. How did he even know about Isabel?

A bit of probing might be profitable, Annabel decided. She gave him a puzzled look. “Why would you imagine I’d have my sister with me?”

He shrugged. “Twins—identical twins—are very close, aren’t they? Perfectly natural to stick together.”

There was something very ominous about that knowing little speech. To her perhaps oversensitive mind it suggested he suspected the sister swap. Yet why should he?

“My sister has a husband and three children,” Annabel dryly informed him. “We gave up sharing a bed before we went to school.”

His mouth twitched in amusement. “I take it you’re alone on this trip.”

“I happen to like my own company,” she said with pointed emphasis.

“Yes,” he agreed affably, letting the hint to leave her alone slide right past him. “You come over as unusually self-sufficient. It’s quite intriguing, given you’re a twin. Are you the older or the younger?”

The harping on twins needled her. “Does age prove anything?”

“I wondered if the stronger was born first.”

Annabel had no compunction in tossing the quiz back at him. “Did you find that in your family?” She knew he was the younger brother. Barry Wolfe had been forty-two when he’d died. She remembered reading that the brilliant barrister was six years his junior.

His eyes flashed mocking appreciation for the neat bit of fencing. “If you’re comparing me to Barry, it doesn’t really apply. We were both firstborns. To different mothers.”

Only half-brothers! “Your father was widowed?” she asked, curious about his family situation.

“No. Divorced.”

That answered a lot of questions. Barry Wolfe had probably played his divorced parents against each other, learning to double-deal at a very early age and using his considerable charm to get away with it. Whereas Daniel Wolfe undoubtedly grew up enjoying the united focus of both parents. It did make for differences, she decided, apart from those arising from separate genetic pools.

“Were you very close to your half-brother?” she asked, wanting to know his motive for this supposedly accidental encounter with her. Affection? Loyalty? Pride? A wish to clear his family name? Tarnishing hers and Isabel’s would not achieve that, but it could muddy the issue and throw doubt on her integrity.

“We were never what you might call close,” he answered slowly, “but his company was always lively and interesting when we did get together. Barry was very likable.”

His stock in trade, Annabel thought cynically, wishing her sister hadn’t been drawn in by it. Although she could understand the attraction, the wicked appeal of a sexy seducer. After eleven years of marriage to Neil Mason—so upright and unimaginative he probably never deviated from the missionary position—Isabel could have been ripe for some creative attention. Annabel inwardly groaned every time she heard Neil pompously declare there was a time and place for everything.

“I shall miss him.”

The rueful note in Daniel Wolfe’s voice jolted her. He was human, after all. Not the cold, calculating machine she’d been building him into. It also forced her to realise she shouldn’t be judging Barry Wolfe as nothing but a two-faced rat.

There had been many sides to him. Despite his crookedness and lack of conscience about it, he’d been a very popular personality. He’d coloured people’s lives. Perhaps that was valued more highly than integrity by people who overlooked anything if they were being entertained by lively company.

“I’m sorry,” she said impulsively, then frowned over what seemed an insincerity. She didn’t regret Barry Wolfe’s death, though she was sorry about the loss his brother felt. Family was family, however black the sheep.

She felt Daniel Wolfe’s sharp glance at her. Disbelief? Scepticism? She kept her gaze trained ahead, telling herself she was wasting sympathy on him. He was out to get her. Something was niggling him and he wouldn’t rest until he had the answers he wanted.

They passed the bridge that led to the administration centre. Annabel thought about checking out of the resort. It wasn’t far to Port Douglas. Plenty of facilities there to give her a pleasant vacation. If Daniel Wolfe followed her, she’d know for certain he was pursuing a purpose.

“The last time I saw him was at a fund-raiser for his political party,” he said in quiet reminiscence. “Barry was in top form that night, working the crowd for hefty donations. I enjoyed watching him. He had a knack of making people feel good. Their faces lit up.”

Annabel kept her mouth firmly shut. They’d reached the parking area below the administrative building. She mentally measured the distance to the Long House. Only another five minutes until she could effect a reasonable parting from this troublesome man.

“I saw him talking to your sister.”

Alarm bells clanged through her mind. She clenched her teeth. No comment was the safest course. Let him spill out what he knew about Isabel.

“She seemed very taken with him.”

Her heart turned over. Had the sexual signals been obvious? Surely Isabel hadn’t been too indiscreet, or had she thought herself unobserved? Whatever suspicions Daniel Wolfe harboured, damage control had to be put in place. The need to divert this man’s dangerously acute perception, colour it differently, was immediate and critical.

She summoned up a fond smile and said, “Isabel responds warmly to everyone. She’s the perfect political wife for Neil. It balances his tendency towards aloofness.”

He ruminated over that as they crossed the public road that cut through the resort. Then he startled her by asking, “Have you always been protective of your sister?”

“Whatever made you think that?” she demanded, her eyes wide and innocent.

“Steel and putty.”

“I beg your pardon?”

He shook his head at her show of incomprehension. “You’re a very smart lady, Annabel Parker. Quite the most tantalising woman I’ve ever met. So many layers to peel.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“No.” A ruthless glint in his eyes. “You’re with me. Every step of the way.”

Annabel had the sense of a trap closing inexorably around her. Rebellion stirred. She stopped in the middle of the parking lot for passing tourists who wanted a drink or a meal in the Long House. There was no incoming or outgoing traffic. She stood stock-still, defying his assertion.

He stopped, too. He turned to her, one eyebrow raised in mocking challenge. “Something wrong?”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re insufferably arrogant?”

He grinned. The transformation of his face from hard authority to dazzling magnetism was mesmerising. “Have you noticed how politicians always descend to personal abuse when they don’t have a good argument to defend their position?”

It took several seconds for the implication of his words to register. “I wasn’t arguing or defending anything. I was stating the literal truth,” she insisted tersely, fighting the compelling attraction of eyes sparkling with teasing lights.

“Ah, the truth!” He spoke with relish. “Are you afraid of it, Annabel?”

“No. But I don’t necessarily like what people do with it, Mr. Wolfe.”

“Call me Daniel. I have a passion for truth. I do hope you share it.”

He was dangerous. He could turn on a pin, dodge and weave and strike with devastating cunning and speed. The barrister who could turn black into white.

“I’m not sure I want to share anything with you, Mr Wolfe. I don’t know you.”

“At this point, you only need to know one thing about me. If one path is blocked, I find another.”

He was threatening her with going to Isabel. She sensed the ruthlessness behind the teasing challenge in his eyes. Would he care what he trampled on in going down that path? Isabel’s guilty conscience would make her an easy target for him. Then what damage would be done?

“Have dinner with me.” He flashed another disarming grin. “It’s always better to know the enemy.”

Annabel ignored the flutter in her heart and bluntly asked, “Are you my enemy?”

The grin turned into a whimsical smile. “Lovers would be more to my liking.”

It took Annabel’s breath away. This was no whimsy. He meant it. She could feel it, his desire—will—to peel back every layer of her until nothing was unknown to him.

Well, two could play at that game, she thought with reckless determination. As long as he was engaged with her, he would leave Isabel alone. But becoming lovers? A shiver of apprehension ran down her spine. Daniel Wolfe was not the kind of man who would be satisfied with anything less than everything. All the same, she would give him a hard run to the line he’d drawn, and maybe he’d back off in the end.

“I don’t take lovers lightly,” she warned.

“Neither do I.”

“Dinner I’ll accept.”

“It’s always exciting, embarking on a journey of discovery.”

“Yes.” Her eyes taunted his confidence. “A pity the reality rarely lives up to the anticipation, but the food is good here. I’m sure we’ll find something to enjoy.”

With an adrenaline rush at the thought of pitting wits with him over the next couple of hours, Annabel strode ahead, disdaining any fear of him. What was more, she would eat a good dinner even if she choked on every bite. She would not let Daniel Wolfe spoil anything!

CHAPTER FOUR

ANNABEL sipped the pina colada, enjoying the sweet creaminess of the tropical cocktail and the energy lift it gave her. She needed to be sparking on all cylinders in Daniel Wolfe’s company. Nevertheless, her primary aim was to appear relaxed and completely unruffled by the situation.

She had deliberately requested a table on the wooden deck by the pool. The atmosphere was more intimate but she preferred to be distanced from the busy comings and goings inside the Long House, where the main dining room catered for a large crowd of guests. The light out here was dimmer, provided only by small table lamps. Her need for a sense of privacy overrode any sense of intimacy Daniel Wolfe might draw from her choice.

With the business of studying menus and making their meal selections over and the waiters gone elsewhere, Annabel let her gaze drift idly around the exotic plants that provided a lush setting for the artistically curved swimming pool. This was Daniel Wolfe’s party. It was up to him to set the conversational ball rolling. In projecting the air of pleasing herself, she denied any anxiety or apprehension over his intrusion on the scene.

Silence didn’t worry her. The longer it went on the better, as far as she was concerned. She knew he was scrutinising her, trying to burrow under her skin, but that didn’t worry her, either. He could study her as much as he liked. With her face in shadow and turned away from him, he wouldn’t see much.

“You remind me very strongly of the young Katharine Hepburn,” he said bemusedly.

Other people had made the same comment. Annabel supposed she should be flattered by it, since she was not as fine-featured nor as beautiful as the famous actress. It was the wavy red hair, green eyes, high cheekbones and wide mouth that made the comparison inevitable. Secretly she wished simply to be herself. Sometimes, although she deeply loved her sister, being a twin made her feel she wouldn’t ever be a whole person in her own right.

She slowly slanted a sardonic smile at Daniel Wolfe. “Do you have the same aim as Spencer Tracy when he first met Katharine Hepburn?”

“What was it?”

“I believe she made a comment about him being too short for her. He reportedly replied he would soon cut her down to size.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “It doesn’t apply.”

“Because you’re tall?”

“No. I wouldn’t like to see you diminished in any way.”

Her eyes mocked him. “What do you think you’ve been doing?”

It gave him pause for thought.

“Come, Mr. Wolfe. A man with a passion for truth should realise what he’s saying and how it will impact on the other person.”

“In what way have I offended you?” he asked, genuinely puzzled.

“Diminished, not offended. Let’s be precise. In matters of truth, one must be precise.”

She enjoyed tossing his purpose in his face, making him examine his attitudes and behaviour before setting himself up as a judge. Besides, there were always so many interpretations of truth. It was often a highly personal thing. Even facts and figures could be twisted to suit someone’s preferred vision. Precision was not easily achieved.

He relaxed and smiled, and she thought he was enjoying the mental tussle she was provoking. “Tell me my crime,” he encouraged.

He really was extremely attractive when his expression lightened. For one wayward moment, Annabel imagined waking up in the morning with his smiling face on the pillow beside her. It had a strong appeal.

“Let’s try this scenario,” she invited, leaning forward to engage his concentration. “You take a woman you fancy to bed. There you are, all fired up with desire, and she says you’re the spitting image of your brother. Then she says you remind her strongly of Met Gibson, except your eyes are grey instead of blue. Are you still feeling good about having this woman beside you?”

“No. She’s not focused on the person I am.”

She grinned at him. “Feeling somewhat diminished, Daniel?”

He gave a wry laugh. “Guilty on two counts,” he agreed, conceding the argument to her.

She sat back, ridiculously pleased he had caught her point so quickly. Her eyes flirted with him. She was taking wicked pleasure in putting him on the spot. “I wouldn’t like a lover who didn’t make me feel uniquely special to him.”

Heart-tripping desire flashed out at her. “You are unique. Superficial likenesses are irrelevant to the person you are inside.”

She shook her head, trying to quell the treacherous response he evoked as she rebutted his opinion. “They’re not really irrelevant, you know. In some ways they shape the inner person.” Her mouth twisted ruefully. “Who knows how I would have developed if I hadn’t been a twin?”

“The strength of mind and inner fire would still be there,” he said with certainty.

“Is that what you see?”

“More like feel. I’d no sooner laid eyes on you than it hit me like a sledgehammer. I’ve never experienced so much concentrated mental and emotional power. A totally annihilating blast. It made me wonder if you were telepathic.”

Had it made him suspicious?

Annabel silently fretted over what might have been a telling overreaction to him that night at the motel. She had been under intense pressure to keep alert and make all the right responses, leaving no crack in her credibility. When he had stepped into the room, she’d been wound up tight, having already fielded a host of questions from the motel people, the ambulance officers, the police. Someone had tipped off the media, as well, and reporters were baying for blood outside.

One look at Daniel Wolfe and all her instincts had screamed, “Danger, threat.” Her mind had leapt into overdrive, instantly dictating, “Fight, eliminate.” He hadn’t said a word, yet she’d repelled him with all the power she could harness because...because she’d felt his power and it had disturbed her, distracted her, and she couldn’t afford to be distracted or disturbed. Not until Izzie was safe.

“Are you?” he asked.

The question meant nothing to her. She was still deeply involved in analysing her reaction to him, trying to explain it away. No other man had ever affected her like that. On the other hand, she’d never been in such a nerve-racking, life-and-death situation before.

“You don’t want to answer?” he appealed.

“Pardon?”

“Are you telepathic? It’s said that twins sometimes are with each other.”

She sighed. “There you go again, thinking of me as a twin.”

“But not as a carbon copy, Annabel. I would never mistake you for your sister.”

Warm pleasure flooded through her as his eyes reinforced his insistence that she was unique to him. Then she remembered the photograph, and her heart seized up. If he had it, could he tell the difference? Most people couldn’t with photographs. Her heart kicked into life again. One man’s personal opinion didn’t count as hard evidence. He’d need more than that to prove it was Isabel who had been with Barry Wolfe when he died.

If that was his intent.

Maybe it was just curiosity to know the truth.

Or was that hope speaking?

The soup was served. Its arrival was very timely. Annabel didn’t like the confusion in her mind. She felt a very strong tug of attraction towards Daniel Wolfe. The idea of exploring where they might go together was getting more seductive by the minute. If only their connection had been simple and straightforward. But it was impossible to ignore the complications involved in his identity and hers. She had to stay on guard.

Her mind wandered over the problems as they silently consumed the soup. The truth had to be suppressed. It could hurt too many people. Even if Neil Mason forgave Izzie’s lapse into temptation, he wouldn’t forget it. His trust in her would be shaken, which would erode the supportive nature of their relationship. This would inevitably rebound on the children, and what had been a happy and secure household would start snapping with tensions.

Izzie wouldn’t be able to bear it. She needed approval. She needed someone strong to lean on. That was why she’d married Neil Mason, a man twelve years older and imbued with the confidence of having all the answers to everything, a man who was more than prepared to take charge of his innocent, malleable young wife and direct her along the lines he considered right and proper.

Had Izzie fallen into the marriage because she didn’t know what else to do? She had only been twenty. Was it because Annabel had struck out on her own, determined to pursue interests her twin didn’t share, tired of suppressing them for Izzie’s sake?

Annabel had never voiced these private doubts. Although Neil’s pompous righteousness always irritated her, it had felt wrong to criticise a choice when it seemed to fulfil Izzie’s needs. However, if she was ruthlessly honest with herself, it had been a relief to pass the responsibility of propping up her sister onto Neil. She had overlooked his faults, wanting Izzie to be happy with him.

But was she?

To go to a motel with Barry Wolfe.

How much guilt did she bear in all this for effecting a separation from her twin to claim a life of her own, knowing Izzie’s dependence on continual support?

My other half, Annabel thought with a sense of helplessness. No escape from it. They were two sides of the same coin, different, yet joined to each other in an unbreakable mould that made up the whole. What kind of fate arranged such things? Or was it simply an unfortunate trick of nature? Why, in the split that had taken place to form two of them, was it ordained that one be strong and the other weak?

Steel and putty. Daniel Wolfe’s succinct summing up slid into her mind. How had he seen it so quickly? On such brief acquaintance?

Annabel wished it wasn’t true. She was always conscious that the division could have gone the other way, with Izzie being the strong one. She knew she could not turn her back on any cry for help from her sister. It wouldn’t be right. It wouldn’t be fair. It wasn’t Izzie’s fault that she couldn’t cope alone. It wasn’t really Annabel’s fault, either. It was just how it was.

“It must be a difficult relationship for you, being a twin.”

Annabel glanced up sharply, startled at how closely Daniel Wolfe’s remark echoed her thoughts. He had finished his soup and was sitting back, watching her. The. instant their eyes locked she knew he was satisfied he had guessed right. It gave her an eerie feeling. How had he perceived and understood what she had kept hidden from so many others, even her own family?

Her parents were so proud of their girls, Isabel’s marriage, Annabel’s career, never really seeing the downside of their duality. Her mother would still be parading them in the same clothes if she had her way, blindly unaware it had made them feel like show dolls, not real people at all.

She looked at her bowl of soup, her hand poised over it with the spoon, and realised she had been brooding over a plate she had emptied, bar a trickle of liquid and a sliver of onion. She couldn’t remember tasting what she had eaten.

Troubled at having somehow revealed her secret burden, she carefully set the spoon down and composed herself, deciding to take the initiative from Daniel Wolfe and carry out her own inquisition. His interest in her relationship with her sister was too touchy, better blocked.

When her eyes flicked up again, it was with a look of bland inquiry. “All relationships have their difficulties, don’t you think?” Then with barely a pause she attacked, needing to get under his skin. “How do you feel about the pattern of corruption in your half-brother’s finance ministry? Does it surprise you?”

His mouth twisted in distaste. “Not really. Barry always had his eye on the main chance.”

So he wasn’t blind to his half-brother’s real character. “Did you know about it before his death?”

“Not in any detailed sense. I had little doubt the rumours were true, but it wasn’t my job to look into them, and Barry would never have confessed the truth. He rarely let his left hand know what his right hand was doing. He was a master of manipulation.”

The honesty of his assessment surprised her. He was pulling no punches on his half-brother’s behalf. Was it possible she could be equally honest with him? Would he be satisfied simply to be told the truth? And let everything lie as it was?

She barely held back the urge to do so. To reach out and... But it was crazy to trust a virtual stranger. Even crazier to confide in any relative of Barry Wolfe’s. He might be feeding her lines to see if he hooked something incriminating.

Nevertheless, his comments on his half-brother’s character certainly made sense of why her sister had fallen for Barry Wolfe. Izzie was so impressionable she would have been an easy victim for a man who had the knack of discerning other people’s needs and weaknesses and had no conscience about playing on them. Annabel nursed a bitter resentment at the callous way her sister had been used.

“He abused trust,” she muttered, her eyes flashing her condemnation of such heartless behaviour.

“People whose trust has been abused at an early age tend not to hold much stock in it,” Daniel Wolfe answered her evenly. “Trust becomes a commodity to be used in their favour.”

“You would have defended him?”

“Everyone has the right to a defence, Annabel.”

“Despite how much they hurt others?”

“That’s the law. It’s always a mistake to rush to judgment. Some people are flawed through no fault of their own. They, too, were once innocent before their circumstances in life twisted them into other paths,” he added quietly.

“That doesn’t give them the right to do as they please.”

“No, it doesn’t. Which is why we have prisons.”

But his sympathies lay with his half-brother. She didn’t like it. She didn’t like his legal argument, either, however reasonable it was. There were plenty of people these days who survived their parents’ divorces without turning into criminals who took from others when it suited them. To her mind, Barry Wolfe was a crook and a cad.

Daniel Wolfe probably didn’t want to hear that. Truth was sometimes very unpalatable. He might try to prove something else. His sense of truth and justice might demand that Izzie pay for falling into the Barry trap, regardless of the circumstances or consequences.

The waiter removed their soup plates.

Annabel picked up her pina colada again. Beyond the lit area around the pool, nightfall was turning the trees into dark silhouettes. She listened for the sound of the surf breaking on the beach, wishing she could recapture the sense of peace she’d felt earlier. It was gone. As was freedom. Daniel Wolfe had to be dealt with, one way or another.

“You’re angry,” he observed.

She gave him a derisive look. “You revive what I came here to forget for a while. That doesn’t exactly please me.”

He held her gaze with piercing intensity as he remarked, “One never really escapes from an uneasy conscience.”

Annabel laughed, determined to throw him off that line. “My conscience is absolutely clear.”

The laser eyes kept boring into her. “Were you personally involved with Barry, Annabel?”

She felt her face hardening and knew her eyes blazed with contempt. “Are you asking me if he was my lover?”

His mouth twisted. “Hormones are not necessarily attached to the brain. Many women found Barry irresistible.”

“I found him eminently resistible.” She bit out the words emphatically.

“Yet you did meet him at the motel.”

“As you so properly pointed out earlier, everyone has the right to a defence.” And she would defend Izzie to her last breath. “I was about to kill his career in the public service,” she explained for the umpteenth time. “In the interests of fairness, I would grant even a man I despised one last hearing.”

“Despise is a strong word.”

“You wanted truth. That’s it. Like it or lump it, Daniel,” she fiercely challenged.

“Such strength of feeling usually denotes that one has been personally hurt. Or—” he paused before adding softly “—someone dear to you has been hurt.”

Danger!

Annabel forced herself to calm down, back off. She smiled. Coldly. “Put it down to the passion of a crusader. Barry Wolfe hurt a lot of people. I found his likability offensive. It was a mask of deceit.”

“So you weren’t ever taken in by him on a personal level?”

She waved dismissively. “He had a reputation as a womaniser. Such men have no appeal to me, however superficially charming they are.”

“Then you were armoured against him from the start.”

“Armour suggests I might have been vulnerable.”

“I’ve never known Barry to not get a woman he went after.”

“That’s a sweeping statement. Perhaps he only went after those who showed they were interested.”

“And you weren’t.”

“Not in a million years,” she asserted with lofty disdain. “And he knew it. Which was why—” She stopped, appalled at almost tripping into a pitfall.

“Why what?” he prompted.

Why he tried to get at me in other ways. “He didn’t like me,” she finished with a careless shrug.

“And why he would have enjoyed flirting with your sister, who did like him.”

“Did she?” Annabel raised sceptical eyebrows. “Or was she merely returning charm for charm in the superficial way a political wife does at such functions?”

“You would know best,” he conceded, but the cynical glint in his eyes telegraphed blatant disbelief in Isabel’s innocence.

Annabel felt compelled to cast doubt on his sureness. “You seem biased towards the view that women in general fell like ninepins to the inviting twinkle in Barry Wolfe’s baby blue eyes. Did he seduce your women away from you?”

“A few times. It was a game to him. And a useful barometer to me.”

“You mean you used him as a test of their interest in you?” The cold-bloodedness of it shocked her.

He laughed. “Hardly that. Barry was older, more sophisticated, more knowing in the ways of women and the world. A flashy sports car, flowers, flattery, fancy places and fun usually won the day. I could have followed his education in this area if I’d wanted to compete with him, but I wanted something different.”

“So he didn’t take anyone who really mattered to you,” she remarked, secretly glad he wasn’t seduced by the superficial.

His thick black lashes swept down, and there was a stillness on his face that gave him a shuttered look. “There was one who mattered,” he said quietly.

“What did you do?” she asked, aware she was treading on a sensitive area yet too curious about his reaction—the character of the man—to let it pass.

His smile was chillingly dismissive. “Nothing.”

Annabel couldn’t believe it. “You just let her go to Barry, knowing him for the philanderer he was?”

He shrugged. “The choice was hers.”

“You didn’t put up a fight to keep her?”

His eyes flashed with steely pride. “I want a woman who knows her own mind, Annabel. I want a woman who wants me. Exclusively. I’m grateful to Barry for teaching me that.”

Grateful! She shook her head. The hurt behind the lesson must have been dreadful. However much Daniel Wolfe rationalised what his half-brother had done to him, the cruel competitiveness of the game had surely frozen his heart. No wonder he’d perfected icy control, holding back until he could be certain there was to be no shift of interest.

“Is this why you haven’t married?” she asked softly.

“Tell me why you haven’t,” he countered.

“It never felt right for me.”

He nodded, emanating a satisfaction that she could feel curling around her. Her stomach clenched as she comprehended what it meant. She’d passed the test of being immune to Barry Wolfe’s attractions. He wanted her. Exclusively. He wanted her to want him exclusively.

However much the idea might appeal, it was impossible.

She was a twin.

CHAPTER FIVE

DANIEL found it exciting simply having her walking beside him, climbing the hill together, ostensibly to their cabins. But they were climbing other hills in his mind. Many other hills, with peaks he wanted to reach. With her.

Once she stopped lying.

Didn’t she realise it was holding them back? One bold step from her, and they could be past that hump and travelling down the road of truth. He ached for the chance to experience the kind of communication where there were no secrets, no need to suppress anything, no false images. He longed for an honesty that generated mutual trust, where revealing one’s true self was not a fear but a joyous freedom, where knowledge of each other was not a weapon but a shared pleasure.

What would it take to pull her over the line she’d drawn in her mind? To make her open up to him? Open in every sense. Daniel felt his loins tighten. She was so infinitely desirable.

The white pants-suit flowed around her, clinging and floating, tantalisingly modest and seductive. Her hair leapt into a froth of flame under every light they passed. In every way she was an enthralling embodiment of fire and ice. He’d never wanted a woman as much. He’d thought what he craved was unattainable, but Annabel Parker held the promise of it. He could feel it...just out of reach.

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