Kat Martin
Scent of Roses

Contents

From the Author

Prologue

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

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Epilogue

Author’s Note

About the Author

Coming Next Month

FROM THE AUTHOR

I hope you enjoy Scent of Roses. It has long been my wish to write stories about ordinary women who have extraordinary experiences. Scent of Roses is the first of three books that deal with those kinds of tales. I hope you will look for Summit of Angels, the second book in the series, and that you also enjoy it.

Until then, all best wishes and happy reading,

Kat

Prologue

She awakened with a start, her eyes coming sharply into focus, ears straining toward the odd sound that had pulled her from a deep but restless sleep.

There. There it was again, a strange, distant sort of creaking, like one of the floorboards under the carpet in the living room. She shifted on the pillow, trying to hear, but the sound had changed, become a peculiar moaning that sounded like the wind but could not be. Outside the house, the air was hot and still, the summer night densely black and quiet. She listened for the familiar chirp of crickets in the nearby field but they were oddly silent.

The sounds came again, an ominous creak, then a groan unlike anything she had heard in the house before. She sat up in bed, her heart pounding, easing herself slowly back against the headboard, her gaze locked on the door as she tried to decide whether to wake her husband. But Miguel had to go to work early and his days were long and exhausting. Whatever she had heard was surely her imagination.

Her ears strained into the silence, listening, listening. But the sound did not come again. She reminded herself to breathe, took a calming breath, and noticed an eerie thickening of the atmosphere in the bedroom. Maria found herself inhaling more deeply, working to suck air into her lungs as if a heavy weight pressed down on her chest. Her heartbeat quickened even more, thudding heavily now, each beat swelling beneath her breastbone.

Madre de Dios, what is wrong?

She dragged in another labored breath, drawing the thick air into her lungs and slowly forcing it out. She told herself to stay calm. It is nothing…only a trick of the mind. Nothing but the hot, moonless night and the silence. She inhaled again. Out and then in, deep labored breaths that should have steadied her but did nothing to ease her growing fear.

That was when she smelled it. The faint scent of roses. The odor drifted toward her, wrapped itself around her, began to press in on her. It grew as dense as the air, turning thick and heavy, cloying, sickeningly sweet. The fields around the house bloomed with roses nearly half the year, but the scent was soft and light, a pleasing fragrance, nothing at all like the sticky smell that hung in the air: the scent of flowers, which had died and begun to decay.

The bile rose in her throat and Maria whimpered. Her hand shook as she reached for her husband, sleeping peacefully beside her. She paused, knowing once he woke up he would have a hard time returning to sleep, knowing how badly he needed his rest. Still, silently, she willed him to awaken.

Her gaze skipped frantically around the room, searching for the source of the noises and the smell, unsure what she might find, but there was nothing there. Nothing that could explain the terror that continued to well inside her, swelling with each frantic beat of her heart.

She swallowed past the fear clogging her throat and reached for Miguel, but just then the rose scent began to fade. The pressure on her chest began to ease and little by little, the air in the room slowly thinned to normal. She took a deep, cleansing breath and released it, then another and another. Outside the window, the familiar chirp of crickets reached her ears and she sagged against the headboard.

It was nothing, after all. Just the hot, dry night and her imagination. Miguel would have been angry. He would have accused her of behaving like a child.

Unconsciously her hand came to rest on her stomach. She was no longer a child. She was nineteen years old and carrying a child of her own.

She looked over at her husband and wished she could sleep as deeply as he. But her eyes remained open, her ears alert. She told herself that she was no longer afraid.

But she knew that for the rest of the night she would not sleep.

One

Elizabeth Conners sat behind her desk at the Family Psychology Clinic. The office was comfortably furnished, with an oak desk and chair, a couple of four-drawer oak file cabinets, two oak side chairs and a sofa upholstered in dark green fabric sitting against one wall.

Oak-framed pictures of the town in the early nineteen hundreds decorated the interior and a green-glass lamp sat on the edge of her desk, giving the place a casual, old-fashioned appearance. The office was neat and orderly. With the number of cases she handled, it was imperative she be well organized.

Elizabeth glanced at the stack of manila files on her desk, each one a case she was currently working. For the past two years, she had been an employee of the small, privately owned clinic in San Pico, California. Elizabeth had been born in the town, mainly an agricultural community, situated near the southwest end of the San Joaquin Valley.

She had graduated from San Pico High, then gotten a partial scholarship to help pay her way through college. She had majored in psychology at UCLA, earning a master’s in social work, making extra money with a part-time job as a waitress, as she had done in high school.

Two years ago, she had returned to her hometown, a quiet place of refuge where her father and sister lived, though her dad had died last year and her sister had married and moved away. Elizabeth had come to recover from a messy divorce, and the quiet life away from the city had helped bring her out of the depression she had suffered after her marriage to Brian Logan had fallen apart.

In contrast to the hustle of busy Santa Ana, where she had been working, San Pico was a city of around thirty thousand people, of which half the population was now Hispanic. Elizabeth’s family had been among the original founders back in 1907, farmers and dairymen back then. During her childhood, her father and mother had owned a small neighborhood market, Conner’s Grocery, but after her mother had died, her father had sold the business and retired, and Elizabeth had gone off to school.

She reached for the file on top of the stack on her desk, preparing herself for her upcoming session that evening with the Mendoza family, conducted in their home. The file contained a history of drinking and family violence that included an incident of child abuse, but the violence seemed to have lessened in the months the family had been in counseling.

Elizabeth fervently believed the sessions were helping family members learn to deal with each other in ways that did not include physical violence.

Leaning over the file, she tucked an annoying strand of dark auburn hair behind an ear and continued to scan the file. Like all of the Conners, she was dark-haired, slenderly built and a little taller than average. But unlike her sister, she had been blessed with the clear blue eyes of her mother.

Which meant that every time she looked in the mirror, she thought of Grace Conners and missed her.

Her mother had died a painful death from cancer when Elizabeth was just fifteen. They had been extremely close and the difficult months of caring for, then losing her had taken its toll. Elizabeth’s blue eyes were her mother’s legacy, but the memories they stirred were so painful that sometimes, instead of a blessing, her best feature seemed more of a curse.

Elizabeth sighed as she reached the end of the report, closed the file and leaned back in her chair. She had never expected to return to her hometown, which was flat and dusty and most of the year far too hot.

But sometimes fate had different notions and here she was, in a rented apartment on Cherry Street, doing the kind of work she had been trained for, and though she didn’t particularly like living in the homely little town, at least she felt good about her job.

She was thinking about her upcoming session that night when a soft knock sounded at the door. She looked up to see one of the boys she counseled walk into the room. Raul Perez was seventeen years old, on work leave from juvenile detention, to which he’d been sentenced for the second time. Belligerent, surly and difficult, he was also smart and caring and loyal to his friends and the people he loved, and especially to his beloved sister, Maria.

His concern for others was the reason Elizabeth had agreed to do his counseling sessions without a fee. Raul had potential. He could make something of himself if he was given the right motivation—if she could convince him that his life would never improve as long as he involved himself in alcohol and drugs.

Burglary had been the result, of course, as it often was with kids like Raul. They needed money to buy the drugs and they would do whatever it took to get them.

But Raul had been drug free for over a year and he had told her that he meant to stay that way. There was something in his intense black eyes that made Elizabeth believe it might be true.

“Raul. Come in.” She smiled at him warmly. “It’s good to see you.”

“You are looking very well,” he said, always extremely polite.

“Thank you.” She thought that she did look good today, in crisp beige cotton slacks and a short-sleeved turquoise silk blouse, her shoulder-length auburn hair in loose waves around her face.

Raul sat down in one of the oak side chairs and Elizabeth sat down behind her desk. To begin the session, she started with a question about his part-time job at Sam Goodie’s, janitorial and delivery work that would end when Ritchie Jenkins got back on his feet after crashing his motorcycle down at the end of Main Street. In another week, the job would be over and unless he found something else, he would be back in juvenile detention full-time.

“So, how do you like working at the store so far?”

He shrugged a pair of linebacker shoulders. “I like the music—except when they play country western.” Raul was only about five foot ten, but he was stocky and muscular, big for his age since he was a child. He had glossy, straight black hair and dark skin, marred only by the tattoo of a skull on the back of one hand and his initials in blue under the skin beneath his left ear. The initials were a homemade job probably done in grammar school. She thought the skull must have been done during his last stay in juvenile hall.

Elizabeth looked at him and smiled. “I know you’ll be out of work by the end of the week, but I have some very exciting news for you.”

He studied her warily from his place across the desk. “What is it?”

“You’ve been accepted at Teen Vision.”

“Teen Vision?”

“I mentioned it a couple of weeks ago, remember?”

He nodded, his eyes fixed on her face.

“Since the farm is a fairly new facility, they only have room for twenty-five kids so far, but a couple of openings have come up and your application was one of the ones they accepted.”

“I didn’t put in an application,” he said darkly.

She kept the smile fixed on her face. “I know you didn’t—I did. I mentioned the farm to you when you were here before. You seemed interested. I took it one step further and applied in your name.”

He was frowning. That wasn’t good. The students who participated in the residential program at Teen Vision were there of their own free will. If he didn’t want to be involved, being there wouldn’t do him the least bit of good.

“The term lasts one year. You have to be between the ages of fourteen and eighteen and you have to agree to stay the entire twelve months or they won’t let you in.”

“I’m out of detention for good in six more months.”

“You need to change your life so that you can stay out.”

Raul said nothing.

“You would start next week. While you’re there, your room and board would be completely taken care of. They even pay a small stipend for the work you do on the farm.”

Raul grunted. “I know how much farm workers make. That’s the way my family earned their living.”

“This is different than being a migratory worker, Raul. You told me yourself you liked farming, being out in the fresh air working the soil. You could learn a vocation while you’re there and you could get your GED. When your year is up, you could find a full-time job in agriculture or whatever you decide you want to do, something that would eventually make you a decent living.”

He seemed to mull that over. “I need to think about it.”

“All right. But I don’t think you can make any sort of decision until you go out there, take a look at the facility and meet some of the instructors. Would you be willing to do that, Raul?”

He sat back in his chair, his eyes still on her face. “I would like to see it.”

“That’s great. Just remember, a place like that requires a commitment. It’s a place you go in order to change your life. You have to want to do that. You have to want to start over and make a new beginning.”

Raul said nothing for several long moments and neither did Elizabeth, purposely giving him time to think.

“When could we go?”

She stood up from her chair. “Do you have to work this afternoon?”

He shook his head. “Not until tomorrow morning.”

“Good.” Elizabeth rounded the desk and moved past him toward the door. She smiled and pulled it open. “Then why don’t we go right now?”

The Teen Vision farm sat on fifteen acres of flat, arid land fronting Highway 51 a few miles out of town. It was a fertile piece of ground donated by Harcourt Farms, the largest agricultural farming company in San Pico County.

Until four years ago, Fletcher Harcourt had run the farm. After a nearly fatal accident that damaged the family patriarch’s brain and left him in a wheelchair, his oldest son, Carson, had taken over the twelve-thousand acre operation. He had taken control of the company and assumed his father’s once-powerful position in the community. Carson was well liked and generous. The attractive white stucco dormitory and outbuildings that housed Teen Vision had undoubtedly been funded in part by Carson’s donations.

Elizabeth had met Carson Harcourt several times since her return to San Pico. He was tall, blond and attractive. At thirty-six, after several brief relationships, he remained unmarried, though with his considerable wealth and social position, he could certainly take his pick of the women in town.

She was thinking of Carson as she drove her nearly new, pearl-white Acura through the front gates of Teen Vision and was only mildly surprised to see the man’s silver Mercedes sedan pulling out of the parking area. He stepped on the brake as he drove past her, bringing the car to a halt, swirling a cloud of dust around them. Carson rolled down his window as if he didn’t notice and gave her the famous Harcourt smile.

“Well, Ms. Conners—what a nice surprise. Looks like I’m leaving at just the wrong time.” Carson had always been friendly. She had sensed he might have an interest beyond just being social, but if he did, he had never pursued it.

“It’s nice to see you, Carson.” She tilted her head toward her passenger. “This is Raul Perez. I’m hoping he’ll be one of the farm’s new enrollees.”

“Is that so?” Carson ducked his head to get a look at the boy. “They do some good work here, son. You had better grab the chance while you’ve got it.”

Raul said nothing, as Elizabeth could have guessed. With the money and power Carson Harcourt possessed, he represented everything the boy rebelled against.

“This place…” She glanced around, taking in the group of boys hoeing the fields, the two boys laughing as they poured grain into a trough to feed the farm’s small herd of four white-faced Hereford cattle. “This was very generous of you, Carson.”

He shrugged. “Harcourt Farms likes to give back to the community whenever it can.”

“Still, you’ve really done something good here. Someone else might not have been so supportive.”

He smiled and glanced out at the fields, then back to her again. “Listen, I’ve got to run. Got a meeting with some labor union guys in town.” He ducked his head to look past her to the boy. “Good luck to you, son.”

Raul just stared and inwardly Elizabeth sighed.

“One more thing,” Carson said to her. “I’ve been meaning to call you. I wanted to talk to you about the Teen Vision Benefit on Saturday night. I was hoping you might go with me.”

She was stunned. Carson had been friendly, but nothing more. Perhaps he had discovered her interest in Teen Vision. Though she had never actually been to the farm, she knew the wonderful work being done and believed strongly in the project.

She cast him an assessing glance. Since her divorce, she’d rarely dated. The dark days after she had discovered Brian’s infidelity left her wary of men. Still, it might be fun to spend an evening with an intelligent, attractive man.

“I’d like that, Carson. Thank you for asking. It’s black tie, as I recall.”

He nodded. “I’ll call you at your office, get directions to your house so I can pick you up.”

“All right, that sounds good.”

He smiled and waved, rolled up the window of his Mercedes and drove away. Elizabeth watched him a moment in the rearview mirror, then stepped on the accelerator and drove through the gate into one of the spaces in the dirt parking lot and turned off the engine.

“Well, we’re here.” She smiled at Raul, who was staring out the window toward the group of young men working in the fields. A distant tractor threw up a plume of dust while a cluster of dairy cows stood on a hill waiting for the evening round of milking to begin.

Looking nervous and younger than his seventeen years, Raul cracked the door on his side of the car and climbed out into the afternoon heat. In the area between the parking lot and the house, the director of Teen Vision, Sam Marston, walked toward them.

Sam was average in height and build, a man in his early forties rapidly going bald who had shaved the sparse hair off, giving him a modern, stylish appearance. He was a soft-spoken man, yet there was a sense of authority about him. He waved a greeting as he walked up to where they stood.

“Welcome to Teen Vision.”

“Thank you.” She had met Sam Marston when she first moved back to town, knew his remarkable work with delinquent boys. “I know your time is limited. I thought I could come back for an official tour later on.”

He understood what she was saying. That she wanted him to spend this time with Raul. “You’re welcome anytime,” he said with a smile, then his attention shifted to the boy. “You must be Raul Perez.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m Sam Marston. Let me show you around, and while we’re at it, I’ll tell you a little about Teen Vision.” Ignoring Raul’s look of alarm, Sam slapped a hand on the youth’s wide back and nudged him forward, forcing Raul into step beside him.

Elizabeth watched them walk away and found herself smiling. She prayed Raul would give the place a chance, that the farm would be his salvation, as it had been for a number of other boys.

Walking over to stand in the shade of a fruit tree to watch the boys in the fields and wait for Sam, she saw another car, a dark brown Jeep Cherokee, drive through the gate and pull into the space next to hers.

A tall, lean man in faded jeans and a navy blue T-shirt climbed out from behind the wheel. He had very dark hair and darkly tanned skin, a nice wide set of shoulders, narrow hips and a flat stomach. As he walked toward her, she saw that the shirt carried the Teen Vision slogan, Only You Can Make Your Dreams Come True, printed in white letters on the front. A pair of solid-looking biceps bulged below the short sleeves of his T-shirt.

Still, somehow she couldn’t imagine him working as a counselor on the farm. His haircut looked too expensive, his long strides too purposeful, almost aggressive. Even the fit of his jeans spoke of style and money. Elizabeth studied him from beneath the tree and though he wore wraparound shades and she couldn’t make out his face, there was something familiar about him.

She wondered where she might have seen him and thought that if she had, surely she would remember. He moved past her as if she weren’t there, his gaze focused ahead, striding with purpose in the direction of the new barn under construction where several older boys were busily hammering nails. The dark-haired man walked up to them and started talking. A few minutes later, he strapped on a carpenter’s belt and set to work.

Elizabeth watched him for a while, enjoying the efficiency of his movements, his obvious skill at what he was doing, and continued to wonder who he was. When Sam and Raul returned, she intended to ask, but when they arrived, the boy’s face was glowing and his smile so radiant the moment slipped past.

“You’re going to do it?” she said, beaming up at him.

He nodded. “Sam says he and one of the counselors will help me figure out what I am most suited to learn. He says I can do whatever I am most interested in.”

“Oh, Raul, that’s wonderful!” She wanted to reach over and hug him, but she needed to remain professional and that would probably just embarrass him. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am.”

“He can check in on Saturday,” Sam said. “We’ll help him fill out the forms and sign whatever paperwork is necessary.” Technically he would still be in the foster care system until next year and the paperwork would have to pass through proper channels.

“That sounds great.” Elizabeth turned to Raul. “I can bring you out here, if you like.”

“Sí, that would be good.” Raul rarely slipped into his native language, only when he was angry or nervous. Still, he was smiling. Sometimes nervous could be good.

“Your sister will be so pleased.”

His smile broadened. “Maria will be happy for me. Miguel, I think, too.”

“Yes, I think they will both be very happy you made this decision.”

They said their farewells to Sam, who promised to give her a personal tour of the farm whenever she had time, and they started back to the car.

She was feeling extremely pleased with the way the afternoon had gone when she glanced at Raul and saw that his smile had faded.

“What is it, Raul?”

“I am nervous. I want to do this right.”

“You will. You’ve got lots of people to help you.”

Still, he didn’t relax. She knew he was worried that he would somehow fail. It was the failures, she had learned, that most of these young Hispanics remembered and those failures shaped their lives. But Raul had a number of accomplishments as well. He had stayed drug-free for a year and now he had pledged a year of his life to Teen Vision.

“Will you be seeing your sister tonight? I know how excited she’ll be.”

Instead of a smile, Raul frowned. “I will stop by and tell her the news.” He glanced in her direction. “I am worried about her.”

“Why? She isn’t having trouble with her pregnancy, I hope?” Though Maria was just nineteen, this was her second pregnancy. Last year, she had suffered a miscarriage. Elizabeth knew how much this baby meant to her and Miguel.

“It isn’t the baby. It is something else. Maria won’t say what.” His black eyes came to rest on her face. “Maybe you could talk to her. If you did, maybe she would tell you what is wrong.”

She didn’t like the sound of that. Though Maria’s husband was a stereotypical macho Hispanic, convinced the man was the undisputed head of the family, the couple seemed happy. She hoped they weren’t having marital problems.

“I’d be glad to talk to her, Raul. Tell her to call me at the office and we’ll set up a time.”

“I will tell her. But I do not think she will call.” Raul said no more.

As Elizabeth slid behind the wheel of the car, hissing at the heat of the red leather seat against her skin, she cast a last glance at the barn under construction. Only two sides of the building had been framed, but they were making good progress. She studied the group still hammering away, but the dark-haired man was gone.

Sitting in the passenger side, Raul snapped his seat belt in place and Elizabeth started the engine. As they drove back to town, the boy seemed miles away and she wondered if his thoughts were on the very different future he was about to undertake, or if he was worried about his sister.

Elizabeth made a mental note to stop by the little yellow house occupied by Miguel Santiago and his pretty young wife. She would speak to Maria, see what was wrong, find out if there was something she could do.

Two

The hour was late. The night black as ink, just a fingernail moon casting a thin ray of white into the darkness. The smell of newly mown hay hung in the air, along with the rich musk of freshly tilled soil. Inside the house, Maria Santiago snapped off the small TV that sat on a little wooden table against the wall of her sparsely furnished living room.

Though the house wasn’t large, just two bedrooms and a bath, it was only four years old and solidly built, with yellow plaster walls outside and a simple asphalt tile roof. The house had been freshly painted just before they moved in and the beige carpet looked almost new.

Maria had loved the house from the moment she and Miguel had seen it. With its grassy backyard and zinnia-filled flower beds next to the porch out in front, it was the nicest place she had ever lived. Miguel loved it, too, and he was proud of being able to provide such a home for his wife and the baby that was soon to come.

Miguel wanted a child even more than Maria. Aside from Maria and Raul, he didn’t have much family, at least not nearby. Most of Miguel’s family lived in the San Joaquin Valley farther north, near Modesto. Maria’s mother had died when she was fourteen, and she had never known her father. Her mother once told her he had left when Raul was born and no one had seen him since.

With her parents gone and no one to care for them, Maria and Raul had moved in with a couple named Hernandez, migratory workers who traveled the agricultural circuit. One of the jobs they had worked had been in the orchards, harvesting almonds for Harcourt Farms, and that was where Maria had met Miguel. She had been not quite fifteen, her brother only thirteen, and Miguel Santiago had been their salvation.

They had married the day of her fifteenth birthday and when the workers left for their next job, both she and Raul had stayed with Miguel on the farm. Though he earned barely enough to get by, there was plenty to eat, and Raul could go to school. He had attended faithfully for the entire first year, but being so far behind the other kids, in a short time he had rebelled and refused to go.

He had begun to stay out late, to hang around with a bad element. Eventually, he had gotten into trouble and been sent to a foster home. Finally, he’d wound up in juvenile hall. Recently, he had been released into a halfway house and soon would be living at Teen Vision.

It seemed a miracle had occurred.

Another had happened two months ago, when her husband had received a promotion to overseer—one of four on the farm. He had been given a raise and a house to live in as part of his higher salary.

It was a very nice house, Maria thought again as she untied the sash on her bathrobe and tossed it over a chair. Dressed in a short white nylon nightgown that fanned out over her growing belly, she walked toward the bed, wishing Miguel would get home. But he often worked late in the fields and she had mostly gotten used to it.

Except that lately, when he didn’t get home and the hour grew late, Maria was afraid.

She flicked a glance at the bed, her gaze lighting on the comfortable queen-size mattress, bigger than any she had ever slept in before.

She ached to slide beneath the covers, to rest her head on one of the pillows and drift off to sleep. She was so very tired. Her back ached and her feet hurt. Surely tonight she would sleep and not wake up until Miguel came home. Surely, what had happened to her last week and the week before would not happen again tonight.

It was after midnight, the house completely quiet as she pulled back the pretty yellow quilt on top of the bed and lay down on the mattress, pulling the sheet up beneath her chin.

She could hear the crickets in the field and the gentle, rhythmic sound gave her comfort. The pillow felt soft beneath her head. Her long black hair, left unbound the way Miguel liked it, teased her cheek as she shifted on the mattress, and her eyes drifted closed.

For a while, she dozed peacefully, unaware of the eerie creaks and moans, of the subtle shift in the atmosphere. Then the air grew thicker, denser, and the soothing chirp of the crickets abruptly halted.

Maria’s eyes snapped open. She was staring up at the ceiling and a heavy weight seemed to be pressing down on her chest. She could hear the eerie moaning, the creaking that wasn’t the wind. In the darkness of the bedroom, the sickening, suffocating smell of roses drifted into her nostrils and the bile rose in her throat.

The putrid smell enveloped her, seemed to force her down in the mattress, to suck the air from her lungs. She tried to sit up, but she couldn’t move. She tried to cry out, but no sound came from her throat.

Oh, Madre de Dios! Mother of God, protect me!

Silently she began to pray, to beg the Virgin Mary to save her, to send the evil away.

She was so frightened! She didn’t understand what was happening. She didn’t know if what she felt was real or if she was losing her mind. Her mother had suffered a tumor that eventually killed her. Toward the end, she had raved and ranted and imagined things.

Was that what was happening to her?

She twisted on the bed and tried to sit up, but her body remained completely frozen, rigid on the sheet. Something shifted, seemed to invade her mind, to fill her thoughts until she could think of nothing but the words spinning round in her head.

They want your baby, a small voice whispered through her terror-filled brain. They’ll take your baby if you don’t leave.

Maria choked on a sob. Fresh horror filled her. She wanted Miguel, prayed he would come home and save her. Silently, she cried out for God to bring him home to her before it was too late.

But Miguel did not come.

Instead, the small voice began to fade into the silence as if it were never there and the heavy smell of roses drifted away in the darkness. For long moments, she lay there, afraid to move, afraid of what would happen if she did.

Maria swallowed, managed to drag in a shaky breath of air. She tried to lift her arms and found that her limbs responded, allowing her to shift on the bed. She lay there staring at the ceiling, inhaling sharp, deep breaths, her hands trembling. She was shaking all over, she realized, her heart pounding as if she had run a thousand miles.

Tentatively, she extended her legs. She moved her arms, crossed them over her chest to control the trembling, then shakily pushed herself upright in the bed. Long black hair fell over her shoulder, reaching nearly to her waist. She drew her legs up beneath her chin, pulled the nightgown down to cover them, and rested her chin on her knees.

It was a nightmare, she told herself. The same dream you had before.

Maria’s eyes welled with tears. She pressed a hand against her mouth to muffle a sob and tried to convince herself it was true.

Zachary Harcourt opened the front door of the house that was once his home at Harcourt Farms. It was a big, white, two-story wood-framed house with porches both front and rear, an impressive house that had been built in the forties and remodeled and improved over the years.

The molded ceilings were high, to help with the heat, and expensive damask draperies hung at the windows. The floors were oak and always polished to a glossy sheen. Zach ignored the sharp ring of his work boots as he walked down the hall into the room that had been his father’s study, a man’s room, paneled in dark wood, with shelves lining the walls filled with gold-edged leather-bound books.

The big oak, rolltop desk where his father used to sit still dominated the study, but now his older brother, Carson, sat in an expensive leather chair.

“I see you still don’t believe in knocking.” Carson turned toward him, one hand still resting on the paperwork on his desk. The enmity on his face was unmistakable. The same dislike was reflected in Zach’s eyes as well.

The men were about the same height, almost six foot two, though Carson, two years older, was heavier through the chest and shoulders, built more like their father. He was blond and blue-eyed like his mother, while Zach, a half brother born on the wrong side of the blanket, was more leanly built, with the nearly black, slightly wavy hair that had belonged to Teresa Burgess, his father’s long-time mistress.

It was said that Teresa carried a trace of Hispanic blood from a distant grandmother, but she had always denied it, and though Zach’s skin was darker than Carson’s, his cheekbones high and more sharply defined, he had no idea whether or not it was true.

One thing was certain. Zach had the same distinct gold-flecked brown eyes that stared back at him when he looked at his father, marking him clearly as Fletcher Harcourt’s son and Carson’s brother—much to Carson’s chagrin.

“I don’t need to knock,” Zach said. “In case you’ve forgotten, which you usually do, this house still belongs to our father, which means it is mine as much as it is yours.”

Carson made no reply. After the fall that had left Fletcher Harcourt’s motor functions impaired and his memory distorted, Carson, the eldest son, had been made conservator of the farm and all of their father’s affairs, including his health care. It had been an easy decision for the judge, since Zach was younger and had a prison record.

At twenty-one, Zach had spent two years in the California State Penitentiary at Avenal for manslaughter, convicted of a drunk-driving offense that had resulted in a man’s death.

“What is it you want?” Carson asked.

“I want to know what’s happening with the benefit. Knowing your penchant for getting things done, I assume everything is in order.”

“Everything’s under control, just like I said it would be. I told you I’d help raise money for this little project of yours and that’s what I’m doing.”

Two years ago, Zach had set aside his pride and come to Carson with the idea of establishing a boy’s camp for teens with drug and alcohol problems. As a youth, he’d been one of those kids, always in trouble, always butting heads with his family and the law.

But the two years he’d spent in prison had changed his life and he wanted that to happen for other boys who weren’t as lucky as he had been.

Not that he’d thought himself lucky at the time.

Back then, he’d been sullen and resentful, blaming everyone but himself for what had happened to him and what his life had become. Out of boredom and hoping to find a way of shortening his sentence, he had started to study law and discovered he seemed to have a knack for it. He had gotten his GED, taken the SAT’s and passed with extremely high marks, then gone to Berkley and enrolled in Hastings Law School.

Impressed by the changes he was trying to make in his life, his father had helped him with the tuition, and combined with the money from his part-time job, Zach had managed to get through school, graduating in the top percentiles of his class. He had passed the bar exam with flying colors and Fletcher Harcourt had used his influence to get Zach’s felony record expunged so that he could practice law.

Zach was now a successful lawyer with an office in Westwood, an apartment overlooking the ocean in Pacific Palisades, a slick new 645 Ci BMW convertible and the Jeep he drove whenever he came up to the valley.

He was living the good life and he wanted to give something back for the success he had found. Until that day two years ago, he had never asked his brother for anything—had sworn he never would. Carson and his mother had made Zach’s life miserable from the day his father had brought him home and announced plans to adopt him.

There was bad blood between them that would never go away, but Harcourt Farms belonged to Zach as much as Carson and though his brother had complete control, there was plenty of available land, and the location he had chosen for the site was exactly the perfect spot.

Zach remembered the day he had approached his brother, the amazement he had felt when Carson had so readily agreed to his proposal.

“Well, for once you’ve actually come up with a good idea,” Carson had said from his chair at the rolltop desk.

“Then you’re saying Harcourt Farms will donate the land?”

“That’s right. I’ll even help you raise the money to get the project off the ground.”

It had taken Zack several months before he realized his brother had once again neatly turned the tables. The project became Carson’s—though it was mostly Zach’s money that provided the funding—and the entire town was now in Carson’s debt.

Zach no longer cared. With Carson as spokesman, the money continued pouring in, enough to keep the farm running and even enough to expand. The more boys who could be helped, the better, as far as Zach was concerned. Zach would gladly stay out of the picture if it meant helping those kids, and with Carson’s name attached instead of his own, the upcoming benefit on Saturday night would likely be another success.

“I just wanted to check,” Zach said, thinking of the black tie affair he wouldn’t be attending. “Let me know if there’s anything you need me to do.” Instead, he would spend the weekend building the barn, working with the Teen Vision boys, something he had discovered he loved to do.

“You sure you don’t want to come?” Carson asked, though Zach figured having the black sheep of the family in attendance was the last thing Carson wanted.

“No thanks. I wouldn’t want to cramp your style.”

“You could bring Lisa. I’ll be taking Elizabeth Conners.”

The name hit a cord in his memory bank. Liz Conners. She was four years his junior. Once, before he’d gone to prison, he’d been drunk and high and he had come on to her pretty hard outside the coffee shop where she had a part-time job after school. Liz had slapped his face—something no other woman had ever done—and he had never forgotten her.

“I thought she was married and living in Orange County someplace.”

“She was. She’s divorced now, moved back to town a couple of years ago.”

“That so?” San Pico was the last place Zach would want to live. Coming up to visit his dad in the rest home and working on expanding the youth farm was the most he could manage. “Tell Liz I said hello.”

Inwardly he smiled, thinking he was the last person Liz Conners would be happy to hear from. He’d kind of thought Liz was the sort of woman who’d be able to see through a man like his brother. Then again, there was no accounting for people’s tastes.

Carson said no more, just returned to the stack of work on his desk. Zach left the study without a goodbye and headed for his car. He was surprised Carson knew he had been seeing Lisa Doyle and he didn’t like it that he did. He didn’t like Carson knowing anything about him. He didn’t trust his half brother and never had.

Whatever Carson might think, Lisa wasn’t really his type. But she liked hot, raunchy sex, no strings attached, and so did Zach, and they had been sleeping together off and on for years.

And he didn’t have to worry about getting a motel room when he was in town and Lisa didn’t have to worry about picking up some stranger in a bar when she wanted to get laid.

It was a good deal for both of them.

Elizabeth looked up at the sound of a knock at her door. The door swung wide and her boss, Dr. Michael James, stuck his head through the opening. Michael, just under six feet tall with sandy hair and hazel eyes, had a Ph.D. in psychology. He had opened the office five years ago. Elizabeth had been working for him for the past two. Michael was engaged to be married, but lately he seemed to be having second thoughts and Elizabeth wasn’t sure he was going to go through with the wedding.

“How’d it go with Raul?” he asked, another of the young man’s supporters. Raul had a way of endearing himself to people, though on the surface he seemed to do his best to achieve just the opposite.

“He’s decided to enroll in the program.”

“That’s great. Now if he’ll just stick to it.”

“He was excited, I think. Of course, Sam could sell sour milk to cows.”

“So you were impressed with the farm. I thought you would be.”

“It’s really coming along. Carson has done a wonderful job.”

“Yes, he has. Though it seems to me everything he does is a bit self-serving. Lately, I heard a rumor he may be running for a seat in the state assembly.”

“I don’t know him very well, but he seems community-minded. Maybe he’d be good for the job.”

“Maybe.” Though Michael didn’t seem completely convinced.

They spoke for a moment more, then Dr. James left the office and the phone rang. When Elizabeth picked it up, she recognized Raul Perez’s voice.

“I am calling about my sister,” he said simply. “I saw her this morning after Miguel went to work. She was very upset. She tries to hide it, but I know her too well. Something is wrong. Do you think you could stop by the house sometime today?”

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to get over there to see her. I’ll stop by this afternoon. Will your sister be home?”

“I think so. I wish I knew what was wrong.”

“I’ll see if I can find out,” Elizabeth promised and as she hung up the phone she wondered what it could be.

In a job where she dealt with family violence, drugs, robbery and even murder, it would take a great deal to surprise her.

Three

It was after five o’clock, and the office was closed by the time Elizabeth was able to leave. She made the drive through town in the after-five traffic, nothing like the bumper-to-bumper, endless line of cars on the L.A. freeways she used to battle when she lived in Santa Ana, but enough to keep her stopped on Main Street through two sets of red lights.

Downtown San Pico was only ten blocks long, some of the store signs printed in Spanish. Miller’s Dry Cleaners, perched on the corner, had a laundromat attached. There was a JC Penney catalog store, several clothing stores, and a couple of diners, including Marge’s Café, where she had worked part-time in high school.

As she drove past the coffee shop, she could see the long Formica counter and pink vinyl booths inside. Even after twenty years, the place still did a brisk business. Aside from The Ranch House, a steak and prime rib restaurant at the edge of town, it was the only decent place to eat.

A few straggly sycamore trees grew out of the sidewalks that lined the downtown streets but not many. There were a couple of gas stations, a Burger King, a McDonald’s and a sleezy bar called The Roadhouse out where Highway 51 intersected Main Street. The biggest boon to the area had been the arrival two years ago of a Wal-Mart, built to service the town and several outlying farming communities.

Elizabeth continued down Main and turned onto the highway, heading for Harcourt Farms. The little yellow house where Maria and Miguel Santiago lived sat just off the road in an area of the farm that included three other overseers’ houses, half a dozen farm laborer cottages, and the big, white, wood-frame, two-story owner’s house, which sat some distance away.

Elizabeth’s car bumped over a set of abandoned railroad tracks not far from the house. She pulled off the road into a spot next to the driveway and climbed out of the Acura.

She had saved for two years to get the down payment for the car and she loved it. With its red leather seats and wood-paneled interior, it made her feel younger just to sit behind the wheel. She had bought the car because she thought that at thirty, she shouldn’t be feeling as old as she often did.

She walked along the cement sidewalk past a flowerbed blooming with red and yellow zinnias. Elizabeth knocked on the front door of the house, and a few minutes later, Maria Santiago pulled it open.

“Ms. Conners.” She smiled. “What a nice surprise. It is good to see you. Please come in.” Maria was a slender young woman, except for the protrusion of her belly and her ever-increasing breasts. Her long black hair was braided, as she often wore it, and hanging down her back.

“Thank you.” Elizabeth walked into the house, which Maria kept immaculately clean. The girl, as neatly kept as the house, wore a pair of white, ankle-length pants and a loose-fitting blue-flowered blouse. Except for the tight lines around her mouth and the faint smudges beneath her eyes, she looked lovely.

“Miguel and I, we want to thank you for what you did for Raul. I have never seen him so excited, though of course, he tried not to show it.” She frowned as a thought occurred. “He is not in more trouble? That is not the reason you are here?”

“No, of course not. This has nothing to do with Raul. Except that your brother is worried about you. Raul asked me to stop by.”

“Why would he do that?”

“He thinks you are upset about something. He isn’t sure what it is. He hoped that you might talk to me about it.”

Maria glanced away. “My brother is imagining things. I am fine, as you can see.”

She was pretty, with her big dark eyes and classic features, and more than six months pregnant. Elizabeth had come to know Maria and Miguel through her dealings with Raul and she liked them both, though Miguel’s overly macho attitude could be irritating at times.

“It is hot outside,” Maria said. “Would you like a glass of iced tea?”

“That sounds wonderful.”

They sat down at a wooden table in the kitchen. Maria went over to the refrigerator and pulled out a plastic pitcher, then popped cubes from an ice tray into two tall glasses and filled them with chilled tea.

She set the glasses down on the table. “Would you like some sugar?”

“No, this is perfect just the way it is.” Elizabeth sat down at the small round table covered by a flowered plastic tablecloth and took a sip of her tea.

Maria stirred sugar into hers, paying slightly more attention to the task than necessary, Elizabeth thought, wondering again what the problem could be. Raul was a shrewd young man. He wouldn’t have called without good reason.

“It must be hard being alone all day this far from town,” Elizabeth began cautiously.

“There is always work to do. Before it got so hot, I worked in my garden. Now, with the baby getting bigger, I cannot stay out in the sun for so long. But I have clothes to mend and food to prepare for Miguel. Since we moved into the house, he comes home for lunch. He works very hard. I like to make sure he has something good to eat.”

“So the two of you are getting along all right?”

“Sí. We get along very well. My husband is a good man. He is a very good provider.”

“I’m sure he is. Still, I imagine he often works late, which means you are home by yourself. Is that the reason you aren’t sleeping well?” It was a risk. She was guessing and a wrong guess might bring the young woman’s guard up even more.

“What…what makes you think I am not sleeping?”

“You look tired, Maria.” Elizabeth reached across the kitchen table and clasped the girl’s hand. “What is it, Maria? Tell me what’s wrong.”

The girl shook her head and Elizabeth caught the sheen of tears. “I am not certain. Something is happening, but I do not know what it is.”

“Something? Like what?”

“Something very bad, and I am afraid to tell Miguel.” She drew her hand away. “I think…I think I might be getting sick like my mother.”

Elizabeth frowned. “Your mother had a tumor, didn’t she? Is that what you mean?”

“Sí, a tumor, yes. In her brain. Before she died, she started to see things that were not there, to hear voices calling out to her. I think maybe that is happening to me.” Leaning over, she hugged her swollen belly and burst into tears.

Elizabeth sat back in her chair. It was possible, she supposed but there could be any number of explanations. “It’s all right, Maria. You know I’ll help you in any way I can. Tell me why you think you might have a tumor like your mother.”

Maria looked up, her hand shaking as she brushed away the wetness on her cheeks. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “In the night…when Miguel is working, sometimes I hear noises. They are very frightening sounds, creaking and groaning, moaning that sounds like the wind but the night is still. The air in the bedroom grows thick, and so heavy I can hardly breathe.” She swallowed. “And then there is the smell.”

“The smell?”

“Sí. Like roses, only so strong I think I will suffocate right there in the bed.”

“San Pico is famous for its roses. They’ve been growing them here for more than forty years. Occasionally, you are bound to smell them.” She clasped the young woman’s hand once more, felt how cold it was, felt it trembling. “You’re pregnant, Maria. When a woman is carrying a baby, sometimes her emotions get mixed up.”

“They do?”

“Yes, sometimes they do.”

Maria glanced away. “I am not sure what is happening. Sometimes…sometimes it seems real. Sometimes I think…”

“You think what, Maria?”

“That mi casa es encantada.”

Elizabeth spoke passable Spanish, had to in order to do her job. “You think your house is haunted? Surely you don’t believe that.”

Maria shook her head, fresh tears welling in her eyes. “I do not know what to believe. I only know that at night I am very afraid.”

Frightened enough that she had been unable to sleep. “But you aren’t saying that you’ve actually seen a ghost.”

She shook her head. “I have not seen it. I have only heard its voice in my head.”

“Listen to me, Maria. Your house is not haunted. There are no such things as ghosts.”

“What about Jesus? Jesus came back from the dead. He is called the Holy Spirit.”

Elizabeth leaned back in the chair. She had been doing social work since she graduated from college. She had dealt with hundreds of unusual problems, but this was a first.

“Jesus is different. He’s the Son of God and he isn’t haunting your house. Do you really believe there’s a ghost in your bedroom?”

“There is a ghost—or I am going to die like my mother.” She started to cry again.

Elizabeth rose from her chair. “No, you’re not,” she said firmly, stilling Maria’s momentary lapse into tears. “You are not going to die. But just to make sure there isn’t a tumor, I’m going to arrange for a visit to the clinic. Dr. Zumwalt can do a CAT scan. If there’s anything wrong, he’ll be able to tell.”

“We do not have the money for something like that.”

“The county will take care of it, if Dr. Zumwalt thinks the test needs to be done.”

“Will it hurt?”

“No. They just take a picture of the inside of your head.”

Maria rose from her chair. “You must promise not to tell Miguel.”

“I won’t tell your husband. This is just between you and me.” She could only imagine what Miguel Santiago would say if he found out his young wife had started to believe their house was haunted.

“We will go to the clinic tomorrow?”

“I’ll have to make the arrangements. I’ll call you as soon as I know the date and time, then I’ll pick you up and take you there myself.”

Maria managed an uneven smile. “Thank you.”

“Raul is going to ask me if you’re all right.”

“Tell him I am fine.”

Elizabeth sighed. “I’ll tell him I’m taking you in for a checkup just to be sure you’re okay.”

She nodded and flicked a glance toward the bedroom. “Tell him not to tell Miguel.”

Carson Harcourt drove up in front of the two-story stucco fourplex on Cherry Street, climbed out of his Mercedes and started up the walkway to apartment B. The area was quiet, the neighborhood one of the safest in town. He was only a few minutes late and he figured, at any rate, Elizabeth wouldn’t be ready when he got there.

Women never were.

A brisk rap on the door. He was surprised when a fully dressed Elizabeth Conners pulled it open.

Carson’s gaze ran over her floor-length dark blue sequined gown and he found himself smiling. His spur-of-the-moment invitation to the benefit was nothing short of genius. He had noticed she was pretty, of course. He’d had a hunch, once she abandoned the boring but professional business suits she always wore, she would be far more than that.

“You look gorgeous,” he said, meaning it. She was a little taller than average and slenderly built. As he assessed her curve-hugging gown, he saw that she had nice full breasts, smooth shoulders, a small waist and well-shaped hips.

I should have done this sooner, he chided himself.

“Thanks for the compliment. You look very dashing yourself, Carson.”

He smiled. He’d always looked good in a tux. The black showed off his blond hair and blue eyes, and the single-button style set off the width of his shoulders. Too bad it was still so damned hot. He’d only been out of the air-conditioned car for a couple of minutes and already he was sweating inside the collar of his white pleated shirt.

“Let’s get going. It’ll be cooler in the car.”

Elizabeth nodded and took his arm. Carson led her toward his silver Mercedes and settled her in the passenger seat. The air conditioner blasted full force the moment he turned the electronic key in the ignition. It had been a while since he’d had time for female companionship. As he glanced over at Elizabeth, he thought that maybe it was time for that to change. He would see how well they dealt together tonight.

The benefit was in full swing by the time they arrived. Carson led Elizabeth through the milling crowd, waving to a few friendly faces, heading toward the front of the room. He stopped at the no-host bar and ordered a glass of champagne for Elizabeth and a scotch-and-soda for himself. They made conversation with a few of the guests, Sam Marston, head of Teen Vision, Dr. and Mrs. Lionel Fox, one of the organizations biggest contributors, a couple of high school counselors.

“Elizabeth! I didn’t realize you would be here!” It was Gwen Petersen. She was there with her husband, Jim, district manager for Wells Fargo Bank, and apparently she was a good friend of Elizabeth’s.

“I hadn’t planned to come until Carson was kind enough to invite me. I meant to call you. I’ve just been so busy.”

Gwen’s gaze swung from Elizabeth to Carson, lingered there a moment as if she were contemplating the two of them together, then she smiled.

“Well, what a nice idea.” She was a petite woman with red hair and attractive features. She and her husband had a couple of little boys, if he recalled correctly, and he usually did.

Carson returned her smile. “I think it was a very good idea.”

Gwen’s gaze returned to her friend. “I’ll call you the first of the week. We definitely need to have lunch.”

Elizabeth nodded. “See you then.”

It was nearly time to start the proceedings. Carson seated Elizabeth at the white-draped head table and took a seat beside her.

The room began to quiet as the last of the guests took their places at the tables. The benefit was being held in the banquet room of the Holiday Inn, where most local occasions took place.

Carson introduced Elizabeth to the other people seated at the front of the room, some of whom she knew, and they all conversed politely as dinner was served, the usual rubber chicken in some kind of dull brown gravy, lukewarm mashed potatoes and overcooked broccoli. Dessert followed, a decent chocolate mousse that managed to satisfy the holes in his appetite the scant meal had been unable to fill.

Then the speeches began. Sam Marston talked about the progress they were making at the youth farm. John Dillon, one of the high school counselors, spoke about the opportunities the farm provided for troubled teenage boys. Carson was introduced last and received a big round of applause.

He straightened his tuxedo jacket as he moved behind the podium. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. It’s gratifying to see such a fantastic turnout for such a worthy cause.” More applause. He’d always liked the sound of it. “Sam told you a little about the farm. Let me tell you a little about the boys enrolled in Teen Vision.”

He began with a brief history of some of the youths who had graduated from the farm. By the time he had finished describing the tragedies suffered by some of the young men and how Teen Vision had changed their lives, the entire hall had fallen completely silent.

“You’ve all been generous in your contributions. I hope you’ll continue to support the farm as you have in the past. Tonight we’ll be accepting donations. Just take your checks over to the table next to the door and Mrs. Grayson will give you a receipt you can use for your income taxes.”

Everyone applauded vigorously and Carson sat back down next to Elizabeth.

“You were wonderful,” she said, her pretty blue eyes shining. “You really painted a picture of what those boys have suffered.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s a very worthwhile project. I’m happy to help in any way I can.”

She was looking up at him and smiling. He liked that in a woman, that she appreciated a man and let him know it. And he liked the way she looked in that dress, sexy yet classy. Not too overblown. With a little more money to spend on the suits she wore, she would even look good in those.

“The band is starting to play,” he said. “Why don’t we dance?”

Elizabeth smiled. “I’d love to.” She rose from her chair and led the way to the dance floor. Carson watched the sway of her behind and smiled approvingly. Sexy but not too flashy, a good memory for names, he had discovered, and a decent conversationalist, as well.

Interesting.

A slow song began. He eased her into his arms and her hands slid up around his neck. They stepped into the music as if they had danced together a dozen times and he liked the way their bodies fit together.

“You’re a very good dancer,” she said.

“I try.” He thought of the ballroom dance lessons his mother had insisted he take when he was a boy. The effort was paying off now, as she had promised, though at the time he had hated every minute. “I’ve always loved to dance.”

“So have I.” Elizabeth followed him easily, making him look even better than he usually did. Her waist was trim, her body firm beneath his hands. He had always found her attractive. He was surprised he had not given her more consideration before.

Then again, his political ambitions had loomed further in the future. Recently, that had begun to change.

The song ended. Carson followed Elizabeth off the dance floor, then both of them came to a sudden halt as a dark-haired man stepped in their way.

“Well, look who’s here,” Carson drawled, staring into his brother’s gold-flecked brown eyes. Times changed, but some things didn’t. His feelings for Zach—or lack thereof—were one of them.

Elizabeth looked from Carson to the man standing toe-to-toe with him, dark-haired, dark-eyed. Unbelievably handsome. The realization hit her—she had seen this man at the barn. Though his face had been hidden behind a pair of wraparound sunglasses, it was the man she had seen working on the barn at Teen Vision. And now she knew why he had seemed so familiar.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” Carson said to him, an edge to his voice that hadn’t been there before. Elizabeth knew why. The man standing in front of her was Carson’s half brother.

“I changed my mind.” Zachary Harcourt’s gaze moved to her and he flashed a smile that looked incredibly white against his dark skin. “Hello, Liz.”

Her whole body stiffened. “Hello, Zach. It’s been a while.” But not long enough, she thought, remembering the last time she had seen him, remembering how drunk and insulting he had been, his eyes dilated from whatever drug he had been using at the time. She’d been a senior in high school, working part-time at Marge’s Café. “I didn’t know you were back in San Pico.”

“I’m not. Not officially. Though I gather you’re living here now.”

“I’ve been back for a couple of years.” She didn’t tell him she had seen him out at Teen Vision, but she silently questioned Carson’s judgment in allowing a man like his brother around a group of impressionable teenage boys.

“Nice party,” Zach said, glancing around at the women in formal gowns, the men in tuxedos. “If you like rubber chicken and a band whose usual gig is the veteran’s hall.”

“This is San Pico, not L.A.” Carson said stiffly, reaching up to adjust his black bow tie. “We’re here to raise money, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“After that tear-jerking little speech you gave, how could I possibly forget? Nice job, by the way.” Zach’s tux looked expensive, Italian, judging from the fabric and cut, Armani or maybe Valentino, designers who specialized in clothes for men with the lean, hard build of a fashion model.

She wondered where he got the kind of money to buy clothes like that and thought maybe he had moved up to selling drugs these days. At least he no longer had the dazed look of a user.

“Mrs. Grayson will be happy to take your check,” Carson taunted.

Zach arched a sleek, nearly black eyebrow. “I’m sure she’d be willing to take yours, too.”

Carson cast him a warning glance. There had never been any love lost between the two brothers. It looked like that hadn’t changed. “You said you weren’t coming. Why’d you change your mind?”

Those dark eyes strayed toward Elizabeth. “I figured it would give me a chance to say hello to a few old friends.”

Four

Zach watched Liz Conners dancing again with his brother. She was better-looking than he remembered, a little taller, her figure nicely filled out. She hadn’t forgotten him, that was for sure. Those pretty blue eyes looked cold as stone whenever she glanced in his direction, which wasn’t all that often.

It was remembering those eyes that had persuaded him to come. He used to have the major hots for Elizabeth Conners, but she was too smart to give him a second glance. She’d been right to stay away from him. Besides going after anything in skirts, he was a loser on the fast track to nowhere. Zach had been curious tonight to see how much Liz Conners had changed.

Substantially, he thought as he studied her graceful movements on the dance floor. She was far more confident than she had been in high school, and even more attractive, yet she still seemed as easy to read. He could clearly read her dislike of him in every look she cast his way.

Zach almost smiled. His interest in Liz had irritated his brother, as he had been certain it would. Perhaps that was the real reason he had come. He wondered how long the two of them had been dating, how heavily involved they were. He wondered if Liz Conners was sleeping with his brother and was surprised to realize it bothered him to think that she was.

She laughed at something Carson said and he remembered that laugh from more than ten years ago when she had been working in the café. It was a feminine laugh, crystal clear and a whole lot warmer than her eyes.

Zach turned away from the dancing couple and started for the door. Curiosity had motivated him to come. He’d had to have his personal assistant stop by his apartment and pick up his tux, had to have it couriered to San Pico to get here in time for the benefit.

He had purposely arrived at the banquet late, missing dinner and all of the speeches except his brother’s. Grudgingly he admitted Carson had done a good job. The donations would be even higher than he had hoped.

It galled him to be indebted in any way to his half brother, but when he thought of the kids at the farm it was worth it.

“Hey, handsome. I didn’t know you were in town.” Madeleine Fox stood in front of him, long manicured nails curled around his black satin lapel. She was red-haired these days and looked pretty good that way.

“I just came up for the weekend. I’ve got to be back in L.A. on Monday.”

“That still leaves Sunday, right?”

“I’m working out at the farm.”

He had dated Maddie in high school. She’d been the wildest thing in town. She was reformed now—mostly. Married to a doctor. But whenever she saw him, she always stopped to say hello, and the invitation was clear in her heavily made-up blue eyes.

She ran a finger down his lapel. “You get bored, you know how to find me.” She had given him a note with her cell phone number on it when he had seen her at the gas station a couple of weeks ago.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He managed to smile and started walking. The last thing he needed was to get involved with a married woman. His black sheep reputation still haunted him in San Pico. He did his best to keep a low profile and except for Lisa Doyle, that included staying away from the town’s women.

It was Tuesday before Elizabeth could arrange an appointment for Maria with Dr. Zumwalt at the San Pico Clinic. Zumwalt, a tall thin man with iron-gray hair, was a professional, no-nonsense sort of man who understood the young woman’s fears, but refused to jump to conclusions.

Elizabeth sat next to Maria in his office, a comfortably furnished room with plain white walls covered with eight-by-ten gold-framed degrees and awards.

Zumwalt picked up the pen on his desk. “Before we go any further, Maria, I’d like to check a few things. To start with, I’d like to know if you’ve been seeing your gynecologist regularly.”

“I go every three weeks to see her,” Maria said.

“And your hormones are normal, nothing out of the ordinary as far as your blood tests are concerned?”

The black-haired girl shook her head. “Dr. Albright says I am doing very well.”

“All right, then. Let’s talk a little more about these hallucinations you’ve been having. You said you hear voices in your head. Is that correct?”

Maria nodded. “Just one voice, a very small voice. It is soft and high, sort of like a child.”

“I see.” He jotted something down on the sheet of paper on his clipboard. “And at times you say you feel as if you can’t breathe.”

She swallowed. “Sí, that is true.”

“I don’t think it’s time yet to worry, Maria. There is a good chance this is merely a case of Anxiety Disorder. In some cases, the symptoms can become extremely severe. Then again, with your mother’s history, it’s best not to take chances. We’ll do the CAT scan first. If we find the least suspicion that something might be wrong, we’ll follow up with an MRI.”

Twenty minutes later, wearing a white cotton gown she held closed in the back, Maria followed a uniformed nurse down the corridor to a room filled with machinery. Elizabeth waited outside while the technicians completed the CAT scan, warning Maria that it would be easier if she just lay there, relaxed and closed her eyes.

She didn’t, of course, and lying there on the table, her hands started shaking and she began to tremble. With a look of concern and a few soothing words, the nurse slid her out of the machine, gave her a mild sedative, then waited for the medicine to take effect. The CAT scan was finally completed but the results wouldn’t be in until next week.

As Elizabeth waited for Maria to dress and join her, the doctor approached her in the hall.

“While we’re waiting for the results to come in, I think Maria should get some counseling. As I said, there is a very strong chance we are looking at Anxiety Disorder, or perhaps some form of paranoia. Perhaps Dr. James could spend a little time with her.”

Elizabeth thought it was a good idea. “I’ll speak to him about it. I’m sure he’ll be happy to talk to her. You’ll let us know the results of the test when they come in?”

“I’ll have the nurse call your office.”

“Thank you.”

Maria rejoined them just then, dressed once more in slacks and a loose-fitting maternity top. She looked more troubled than ever.

“You mustn’t worry, Maria,” Elizabeth said. “The test is done and until we know the results, worrying won’t do you a lick of good.”

She sighed. “You are right. I will try not to think about it, though it is not so easy to do.”

“There is one more thing.”

“What is that?”

“Dr. Zumwalt thinks you ought to get some counseling. It’s possible you’re suffering from some kind of stress that is causing these things to happen in your mind. I’m going to arrange for you to speak to Dr. James. Perhaps he can help you find out what is wrong.”

Maria nodded, but Elizabeth could see she wasn’t happy with the idea. It was one thing to have a brain tumor, quite another to think you might be suffering some form of mental illness.

“If we are finished, I would like to go home,” Maria said. “Miguel will wonder where I am if I am not there when he comes in for lunch.”

Watching Maria’s nervousness beginning to build again, Elizabeth wondered if the problem might not have a great deal to do with the girl’s domineering husband. If so, talking to him might help.

It wasn’t going to happen. At least not yet. Elizabeth sighed as the two of them walked down the hall and out into the hot July sunshine.

It was just before lunch when Elizabeth returned to the office, a paper bag containing a low-fat Subway sandwich and a Diet Coke gripped in one hand. She set the bag down on the desk just as her phone began to ring.

“Elizabeth? Hi, it’s Carson. I just called to thank you for such an enjoyable evening.”

“I enjoyed it, too, Carson.”

“Good, then how about we do it again? I’m having a small dinner party at the house a week from this coming Saturday. Representatives from a nominating committee associated with the Republican Party. They’ll be flying in with their wives. I thought you might enjoy meeting them. I know they’d like you.”

So it was true. He was thinking of running for office. Elizabeth had never been interested in politics, aside from voting in the elections for whichever candidate she thought would do the best job. Still, it was a fairly high compliment to be included at such an event.

“That sounds like an interesting evening. I’m registered as an Independent. I hope that doesn’t make a difference.”

He laughed. It was a very deep, very masculine sound. “At least you’re not a Democrat. I’ll pick you up at 7:00 p.m.”

Carson hung up and Elizabeth set the phone back down in its cradle. Carson was attractive and intelligent. They’d had a good time together at the benefit. But instead of Carson’s image appearing in her mind, his brother’s dark visage arose.

Zachary Harcourt had always been good-looking. At thirty-four, he looked even better than he had ten years ago. But there was something different about him now, something darker and harder. He was no longer a boy but a man, one who could take care of himself. He had been to prison, she knew, and it showed in the lines of his face.

She wondered again what he was doing out at Teen Vision and vowed to ask Carson about it the next time they were together.

It was Friday, the end of Raul’s first week at Teen Vision. Elizabeth wanted to check on him and today she finally had time to take Sam up on his offer of a tour.

Parking her shiny, nearly new Acura in the dusty lot, she climbed out of the vehicle and started toward the main office building next to the dormitory. Sam must have seen her drive in. She had called ahead, so maybe he had been watching for her. He was grinning as he walked out the door, joining her before she’d gotten halfway to the office.

“I’m so glad you could come.” He caught one of her hands between both of his and squeezed warmly.

“So am I. I should have come out a lot sooner.”

“You didn’t have a reason to be here. Not until Raul.” He guided her back into the office and showed her around. “We have six full-time counselors. There are always at least two people on duty at any given time.”

He showed her the desk each counselor was assigned, pointed out the tiny bathroom in case she should need it, showed her the small conference room with its faux wood, Formica-topped table and dark-blue padded chairs, a place the counselors could have private discussions with the boys. Then he led her outside.

“Raul is out in the pasture. He’s got a nice way with the animals.”

“He has a very gentle side, though he does his best not to show it.”

He took her into the dormitory building, showed her the TV lounge, and one of the shared rooms upstairs. “Each boy has a certain amount of privacy, but we don’t allow any locked doors and we have random room inspections a couple of times a day.”

The third building housed the dining hall, the main gathering place for the group. The kitchen was all stainless steel, immaculately clean, and she saw two of the boys in there working.

“We have a full-time cook, but the boys do the cleanup and help with food preparation. We rotate the tasks, so each boy spends an equal amount of time and doesn’t get too bored.”

“You’re doing a wonderful job here, Sam.”

He smiled, seemed pleased. They headed out to where the new barn was being constructed and as she looked at the group of boys pounding nails, framing the third wall of the barn, her steps unconsciously began to slow.

“What’s Zachary Harcourt doing out here? I can’t believe it’s a good idea to have a man like that around impressionable young boys.” Her gaze locked on his tall frame, shirtless today, his body sinewy and hard, muscles rippling as he pounded in another nail.

Sam followed her gaze and started to laugh.

“Why is that funny? Zachary Harcourt spent two years in state prison for manslaughter. He was drunk and high and he killed a man. From the look of his expensive clothes, he’s still involved in something illegal.”

Sam was still grinning. “I take it you aren’t too fond of Zach.”

She thought about the day he had embarrassed her in front of the patrons in the café. How he had shoved her up against the wall outside and tried to kiss her. How he had run his hand up her leg, trying to get under her silly little pink uniform skirt. “Zachary Harcourt was never any good. I doubt that has changed.”

The smile slid off Sam’s face. “Why don’t we walk over there in the shade? There are a few things about Teen Vision that you ought to know.”

He led her in that direction, into the shade of a thick-trunked sycamore not far from the barn. “The Zachary Harcourt you knew years ago no longer exists. He died during those years he spent in prison. By the time he got out, another man had taken his place. That is the man you see working over there.”

Her gaze swung in that direction. Zach’s lean body glistened with sweat, outlining muscular ridges and valleys. He had amazingly wide shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist. A pair of worn jeans hung low on his hips and covered long legs undoubtedly as sinewy as the rest of him. She might not like Zach Harcourt, but she had to admit he had an incredibly beautiful body.

“Zach’s been working here at least two weekends a month since the farm first started. He’s dedicated to building Teen Vision. You see, Zachary is the man who founded it.”

“What?”

“That’s right. It’s mostly supported now by donations, but in the beginning, Zach put up a great deal of his own money.”

“But I thought Carson—”

“That’s the way Zach wants it. Carson is a highly respected, very important man in San Pico. With his backing, Teen Vision has grown faster than it ever would have without his help.”

She looked back at Zach, who had turned and seemed to be staring directly at her. For an instant, her breath caught. She quickly looked away. “How did Zachary Harcourt come up with that kind of money?”

“Not the way you’re thinking. When Zach was in prison, he began to study law. He’ll be the first to admit he did it in the hope of beating the system. But he discovered it intrigued him and he was good at it and it got him to thinking. By the time he got out of jail, he had made up his mind to change his life. He went to work, got his law degree from Hastings, and passed the bar exam. His father used his influence to help him get his conviction set aside. Zach’s now a partner in Noble, Goldman and Harcourt in Westwood, a very prestigious law firm.”

Elizabeth mulled over the information, barely able to believe it. She glanced back toward the barn and saw Zach Harcourt walking toward them with those same long-legged strides she had noticed before. His eyes were fixed on her face and she felt that same oddly breathless sensation she had felt before.

Zach paused in front of them and a slow smile appeared on his lean, dark face. “Ms. Conners. Welcome to Teen Vision.”

She tried to keep her gaze on his but it drifted down to his sweat-covered chest. A wide thatch of curly dark hair stretched across it, arrowing down into the waistband of his faded jeans. He was powerfully built, lean and hard-muscled. She forced herself to ignore an unwanted tingle of awareness.

“Sorry,” Zach said, following the line of her gaze. “I didn’t realize we were going to have company. I’ll go get my shirt.”

Elizabeth fixed her eyes on his face. “Don’t bother on my account. I’ve got to get going shortly. I just came by for a tour and to say hello to Raul.”

Zach turned and looked out toward the pasture. “I’ll go get him.”

“I’ll go,” Sam said. “I want to talk to Pete for a minute and the two of them are together.”

“Pete?” she repeated as Sam walked away.

“Pedro Ortega. He prefers to be called by his American name. He and Raul have struck up a tentative friendship.”

“He’s a good boy…Raul, I mean.”

“Kind of surly. A little bit rough around the edges, but they all are when they first get here.”

“Raul is different. He’s special.”

One of his dark eyebrows arched. “If he’s won you over, he must be.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you were always smart and even back in high school you had a way of seeing people for what they really were. I know that from personal experience.”

She felt the heat creeping into her face. “That was a long time ago.”

“I owe you an apology for the way I behaved that day at the café. I wasn’t a very nice person back then.”

“But you are now?”

He smiled, a flash of white in his handsome face. “I like to think so.”

“I like what you’re doing for these boys.”

“I was one of them once.”

Her gaze lit on the tattoo on his left arm, a coiled snake with the words Born To Be Wild tattooed in red below the image.

“I thought about having it removed,” he said. “But I left it there to remind myself how different my life might have turned out.”

Elizabeth eyed him with suspicion. Zach talked a good game, but Carson didn’t seem to trust him and she wasn’t about to leap to conclusions.

“Here comes Raul,” she said, relieved to see the boy walking toward them, thick-chested and broad-shouldered, as tall as Sam but weighing a good deal more. “It’s been nice talking to you.”

“I still owe you for that day at the café. Maybe sometime you’ll let me make it up to you.”

Not likely. “Sorry, I’m afraid my schedule is really full, but thanks for the offer.”

Zach’s mouth inched up at the corner. “I remember now what it was I liked about you, Elizabeth Conners. You’re not afraid to tell it like it is.”

Elizabeth made no reply. She’d been cautious in high school. After Brian, she was far more cautious now. Turning to Raul, she led him over to a picnic table in the shade of another tree and they sat down and started talking.

She was glad to see the boy, glad to hear the enthusiasm that remained in his voice. Only once did her mind stray from the conversation to the dark, mysterious man who had returned to his work on the barn.

Five

The results of Maria’s CAT scan came in on Monday. A phone call from Dr. Zumwalt’s office relayed the news that there was no sign of lesions, hemorrhaging, a tumor or any other abnormality. They could do more testing, of course, but the doctor strongly believed the problem was mental, not physical.

“So you’ll call Mrs. Santiago with the news?” Elizabeth asked the office nurse. A perk of her job as a family counselor was cooperation from the medical community. She had wanted to know if there was a problem so that she could be there with Elizabeth if the results came back positive.

“I’ll call her right away.” The woman hung up the phone and Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief. The feeling was short-lived. Whatever was wrong with Maria had not gone away. At least it appeared to be psychological, not physical. She hoped Dr. James would be able to help.

As soon as Michael’s patient left the office, Elizabeth went in to see him. “No brain tumor,” she said simply, having kept the doctor up to date on the Santiago girl’s progress and gaining his agreement to help if necessary.

“I’ve got a cancellation this afternoon. See if she can come in around three o’clock.”

“Thanks, Michael.”

He raked a hand through his sandy hair. “I like the Santiagos. They’re hardworking, really good people. I know it hasn’t been easy for them.”

Not for Maria, married at fifteen, or Raul, who’d been in and out of trouble for years. “No, it hasn’t. I’ll see if she can come in.”

Driving her husband’s battered old blue Ford pickup, Maria arrived that afternoon right on time. Elizabeth walked into the reception room to greet her and they sat down on the dark brown leather sofa. The area was small but cozy, with an overstuffed chair that matched the sofa, an oak coffee table and an end table with a shiny brass lamp. A stack of magazines sat on the coffee table: Redbook, Better Homes and Gardens and a couple of tattered issues of Family Circle.

“How are you feeling?” Elizabeth asked Maria, who sat with her hand cupped protectively over her belly.

“I am fine, a little tired, is all.” She looked pretty today, in pink slacks and a pink-striped maternity blouse, her black hair drawn back into a single long braid.

“Sleeping any better?”

Maria sighed. “If you are asking if I have heard any more voices, no, I have not. Besides, Miguel has been home in the evenings before it is time for bed.”

“Well, at least you’ve been able to sleep. Let’s see what Dr. James has to say about what’s been going on.”

Maria stood up from the sofa. “Will you…will you come in with me?”

“I think the doctor would rather talk to you alone.”

“Please?”

Elizabeth looked up to see Michael James standing in the doorway.

“It’s all right, Maria. If Ms. Conners is free, she is welcome to sit in for a while.”

Maria cast a hopeful glance at Elizabeth, who nodded, and all three of them went into the doctor’s office. The women sat down in front of his desk and Michael took a seat in the leather chair on the opposite side. He slid a pair of tortoiseshell reading glasses up on his nose and scanned the information in the manila folder on the desktop.

When he finished, he took the glasses off and set them down on his desk. “Let me start by saying that Ms. Conners has told me a little about what you’ve been experiencing, Maria. I’m sure it’s been very disconcerting.”

Maria glanced at Elizabeth and the doctor realized she didn’t understand the word.

“I’m sure it’s been extremely upsetting,” he said. “Having an experience like that is bound to be difficult.”

Maria nodded. “Sí. I have been very frightened.” She gripped her hands tightly in front of her.

“Before we get into a more serious discussion, let’s start with something simple. I have two brief tests I’d like to give you. Just answer each question honestly, yes or no, then we’ll see where we are.”

She nodded, seemed to brace herself. For the next fifteen minutes, the doctor asked questions from the first sheet of paper he picked up, questions that would reveal symptoms of depression.

“All right, Maria, here we go. For the past few weeks or months, have you been excessively worried about work, family or finances?”

Maria shook her head. “No. Miguel is doing very well at his job, and Raul, he is doing very good, too.”

“Have you lost interest in the things you usually like to do?”

“No. I am very busy at home getting ready for the baby.”

“Have you been feeling sad or hopeless?”

“No.”

“Have you lost interest in sex?”

Soft color rose beneath the dark skin over her cheeks. “My husband, he is a very virile man, but with the baby coming…” She glanced away. “Still, I feel desire for him.”

Elizabeth bit back a smile and Michael looked down at the paper. “Do you cry often?”

“A few times lately, but only because I am afraid.”

Michael made notes on the paper. “Are you irritable and out of sorts with other people?”

“No, I do not think so.”

“Do you spend time thinking about death or dying?”

Maria shook her head. “I think mostly about having my baby. The doctor says it is going to be a little boy.”

Flicking a glance at Elizabeth, Dr. James set the questionnaire aside and picked up a second sheet of paper. “This is a test for Anxiety Disorder. Answer each question just as you did before.”

Maria nodded, sat up a little straighter in her chair.

“Do you sometimes feel that things around you are strange, unreal, foggy or detached from you?”

“Sí…at night…when I am alone.”

“Do you have a fear that you are dying or that something terrible is about to happen?”

“Sí, and I am very afraid.”

“Do you have difficulty breathing? Or feel as if you are smothering?”

“That has happened to me…yes.”

He made notes on the paper. “Do you suffer chest pains, light-headedness or dizzy spells, shaking or trembling?”

“Sí, but only when the fear comes.”

“Have you experienced the sensation of your legs being rubbery or jellylike?”

“It was not quite that way. The last time the voices came, I could not move my legs. I could not move from the bed. I could not get away.”

Dr. James frowned. “Have you experienced a skipping or racing heart?”

“Oh, sí. My heart, it goes so fast I think it will beat right through my chest.”

The doctor set the paper aside and pulled off his reading glasses. “From the answers you’ve given, Mrs. Santiago, you have the classic symptoms of anxiety. What you’re feeling isn’t really happening. But stress is making it seem as if it is.”

“Then the voices, they are not real?”

“No. But you mustn’t be afraid. Once we discover what is causing the anxiety, the voices will go away.”

Dr. James glanced at Elizabeth, who took her cue and rose from her chair. “Dr. James is going to help you, Maria. All you have to do is talk to him, tell him your fears, be honest about yourself and your past.” Elizabeth squeezed the young woman’s shoulder. “If you do that, it won’t be long before you’ll start to feel better.”

Elizabeth left the doctor’s office, closing the door softly behind her. It looked like Maria was definitely suffering from anxiety. Michael James was good. In time, he would discover the cause. Once the problem was out in the open, the symptoms would likely disappear.

Elizabeth returned to her office, relieved yet wondering what had set off the young woman’s recent attacks.

Her marriage, perhaps. Miguel Santiago was twenty-nine, ten years older than his wife.

He wasn’t abusive, just domineering, and up until now, Maria hadn’t seemed to mind. She had been raised to believe the husband was master of the household and it seemed their mutual understanding was working to make a successful marriage.

Now, based on what Elizabeth had heard in Michael’s office, she was beginning to have her doubts.

“So what do you think I should wear?” The week was over. It was Saturday afternoon, hot, as usual in San Pico, the sun beating down through the bedroom windows in Elizabeth’s Cherry Street apartment.

“The black cocktail dress,” Gwen Petersen said, plopping down on the edge of the bed in front of the mirrored closet. “Definitely.” The room was simply furnished, with an inexpensive walnut queen-size bedroom set she had purchased right after college, and not much on the walls.

Elizabeth had never planned to return to San Pico and in the two years she had been back, she’d done little to make the apartment feel like home.

“Carson’s house is very elegant,” Gwen continued, “and he’ll have the dinner professionally catered. Jim and I attended a function there not too long ago. You’ll definitely need to wear something nice.”

Gwen studied the dresses laid out on the bed, a red chiffon with a full, flowing skirt, and a light blue silk sheath with a modest neckline and small cap sleeves, and a simple black silk sheath. “The black is perfect, classic yet sexy.”

“That’s kind of what I was thinking. I’ve always felt good when I wear it. I usually wear my mother’s pearls with it.”

“Perfect.” Gwen got up from the bed, picking up the hanger with the black sheath on it, holding it up in front of Elizabeth. “It’s a good thing you still fit into the clothes you brought with you from L.A. You sure couldn’t find anything like this in San Pico.”

The above-the-knee sheath dress was made of black silk crepe, with a draped neckline that dipped down low in back.

“I don’t suppose you could, but you really don’t need clothes like these very often here, either.”

“True enough, but if you seriously start dating Carson Harcourt, you’re going to need everything you’ve got and a whole lot more.”

“I’m not seriously dating Carson. I hardly know the man.”

“It’d be nice, though, wouldn’t it? If you two got together? Carson has plenty of money and he’s well respected in the community. Around these parts, the man is considered quite a catch.”

“Well, I’m not trying to catch Carson or any other man. I’ve had one husband. As far as I’m concerned, one was more than enough.”

Gwen held the dress up in front of her and looked at herself in the mirror. The skirt was too long for Gwen’s petite frame, but the black did wonders for her fair complexion and short red hair. “Not all men are like your ex, you know. Jim’s a terrific husband.”

“Yes, he is. Jim’s one in ten thousand. Unfortunately, I don’t have time to plough through another nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine to find one like him.”

Gwen laughed. “It isn’t that bad. There are a lot of nice men out there.”

“Maybe.” Elizabeth walked over and took down a shoebox that held a pair of black fabric high heels. “I just haven’t had much luck spotting them. Besides, not everyone needs a man in order to be happy. I’ve got my career. I’ve got friends like you and Jim. I have a perfectly acceptable life and that’s the way I intend to keep it.”

“What about kids? Surely you want children. Having babies is a very good reason to find a husband. Unless of course, you’re one of those modern women who wants to get pregnant and raise a kid on her own.”

“I’m not that modern, believe me.”

And when she had first married her college sweetheart, Brian Logan, she had wanted children very badly. But Brian always said it was too soon. They needed to get their careers established. There wasn’t enough money. He just wasn’t ready to be a father.

In the end, they had divorced before she’d had a chance to get pregnant. Now at thirty, her biological clock rapidly ticking, she had returned to using her maiden name and immensely disliked the idea of falling under any man’s thumb again. Which meant there was a very good chance she would never have a baby.

“I’d love to have children,” Elizabeth said, “but not unless I stumble across the kind of man who is committed to the long haul. No more divorces. Not for me. And we both know men like that are few and far between. It just isn’t worth the risk.”

Gwen didn’t argue. She knew Elizabeth’s views on marriage and no amount of discussion was going to change them.

“Listen, I’ve got to run.” Gwen snagged her purse off the walnut dresser. “Call me tomorrow and let me know how it went.” She grinned. “I’m still holding out hope for you, Liz, whether you like it or not.”

Elizabeth laughed. “I’ll call. I promise. But don’t get too excited. It’s just a date, nothing more.”

“Yeah, right. See ya.” Gwen disappeared through the bedroom door and Elizabeth heard the front door close as she left the apartment. The women had known each other since high school. Since Elizabeth’s return to San Pico, they had become even closer friends.

It was the only thing she really liked about the ugly little town. Nice people. Gwen Petersen was one of them. An image of Carson Harcourt, tall, blond and handsome, rose into her head. Carson seemed nice, too. She wasn’t completely immune to the notion of having a man in her life. Tonight might prove interesting.

Six

Elizabeth crossed the living room to answer the knock at her door. Carson stood on the small front porch, looking casually elegant in a pair of summer-weight tan slacks and light blue shirt, a navy blue jacket draped over one arm.

“Ready?”

“Let me get my purse.” She grabbed the black fabric bag that matched her high heels, locked the front door as they walked out, and Carson guided her down the walk to his silver Mercedes.

“You look terrific, by the way,” he said as he opened the door and waited for her to slide into the passenger seat. “Great dress.”

“I wasn’t quite sure what to wear. Fortunately, I had a very nice wardrobe by the time I left L.A. My ex-husband was a stockbroker with big aspirations. He wanted his wife to project the right image.”

“Most of the women from here drive down to L.A. to go shopping.”

Most of the women married to men with money, he meant. Elizabeth no longer cared about playing the role she had played as Brian’s wife, though she had to admit she was glad she had the appropriate clothes to wear tonight.

The drive out of town to the farm didn’t take long. Carson parked his car in an immaculate four-car garage, but took her around to the front door to go into the house. The big, white, wood-framed structure with its wide porch across the front looked impressive and well cared for from the highway. Now she saw that the interior had recently been remodeled: new paint, new drapes, new furniture, which was a comfortable mix of overstuffed sofas and Victorian antiques, the oak floors adding a sense of elegance and charm. The molded ceilings were high, and an antique chandelier hung from the ceiling in the entry.

The decorating had been professionally done, she was sure, probably a designer from L.A.

“It’s lovely, Carson. Like something out of Better Homes and Gardens only more inviting.”

“Thank you. I wanted a place that looked good but didn’t put people off.”

He led her into one of two front parlors, where a bar had been set up. A member of the catering staff, a young man in black slacks and a starched white shirt, poured her a glass of chilled champagne, Schramsberg, a brand she recognized as coming from the Napa Valley, a fairly expensive California label.

They talked as Carson gave her a tour of the downstairs portion of the house, including his modernized kitchen where the catering staff was hard at work, then on to his wood-paneled study. By the time they returned to the parlor, a long black stretch limousine was pulling up in front of the house.

“Looks like they’re here. Three of the couples flew in on a twin-engine Queen Aire. I hired a limo from Newhall to collect them. Another is bringing the Castenados up from L.A.”

“I gather you have an airstrip here on the ranch.”

He nodded. “It isn’t big enough to handle a private jet, but it serves most other small planes very well.”

“Do you fly yourself?”

“I thought about taking lessons, but I really don’t have time.”

They walked toward the foyer and Carson pulled open the leaded glass door, inviting his guests inside. The fourth couple arrived within minutes of the other three, the group varying in ages from thirty-five to sixty. Introductions were made all around, then Carson led his guests into the bar and drinks were served.

Elizabeth was glad she had worn the black dress. The other four women had on equally expensive outfits, two wore sequin-trimmed pants suits, one a knee-length, ivory dinner suit, another a simple black sheath similar to the one she had on.

They talked for a while, then Carson rested a proprietary hand on her shoulder. “If you ladies don’t mind, there are a couple of items of business that need to be discussed before we go in to supper. It shouldn’t take all that long.”

He didn’t wait for their approval, just turned and started walking, all four males in the group following him down the hall toward the study.

Elizabeth turned to the ladies, taking over the role of hostess. “Is this the first time you’ve been to San Pico?”

“None of us have ever been here,” said one woman in a dinner suit, Maryann Hobson, who was married to a real estate developer in Orange County. “Though, of course, we’ve known Carson for quite some time.”

“His home is lovely,” one of the other women said, Mildred Castenado, a tall, statuesque Hispanic woman whose dark eyes seemed to take in every detail.

“Yes, it certainly is,” Rebecca Meyers agreed. Her husband was the CEO of a big pharmaceuticals company and Becky, as she had asked to be called, seemed a bright intelligent woman. “I particularly like what they’ve done with the molded ceilings.” Painting the walls a creamy beige and the moldings very white.

“Have you known Carson long?” the fourth woman asked, silver-gray hair, thin lips and tight lines around her mouth. She was the eldest of the women, Betty Simino, wife of the senior member of the group.

“We’ve been acquainted for several years,” Elizabeth said, not liking the assessing look in the woman’s pale blue eyes. “This is the first time I’ve been to his home. I agree with Mildred. The house is quite lovely.”

“Carson used the designer I recommended,” Mildred said proudly. “Anthony Bass. I think he did a marvelous job.”

“Yes, he did.”

The conversation went on in that vein, light, mostly pleasant, with only an occasional foray by Mrs. Simino into the nature of Elizabeth’s relationship with Carson, which, of course, didn’t actually exist.

Elizabeth found herself glancing toward the study door, wondering when Carson would return. Praying it wouldn’t be much longer.

Carson surveyed the men seated on the comfortable leather furniture in his study.

The leader, Walter Simino, Assistant Chairman of the California State Republican Party, set his Waterford tumbler of scotch down on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

“You know why we’re here, Carson. The women are waiting and we’ve got supper ahead of us. I don’t see any reason to pussyfoot around. We came here for one reason—to convince you to run for state assembly.”

They had discussed the possibility at length, of course, and he had given the matter plenty of thought.

Carson leaned forward in his chair, his gaze going to each man in the group. “I’m extremely flattered. You all know that. But going into politics isn’t a step to be taken lightly. It takes years of commitment, years of struggle and hardship.”

“That’s right, it does.” This from Ted Meyers, CEO of McMillan Pharmaceutical Labs, a tall man with thinning brown hair. “But what we’ve got in mind would be worth the hard work and it might not take as long as you think.”

“We’re talking about more than just the assembly, Carson.” Walter looked him straight in the face. “A man like you, with your reputation, you could win the assembly seat and in the next election, run for state senate. From there, with the right backing, you could make a run for a seat in Congress. You’re the right age, Harcourt, only thirty-six years old. You’ve got the looks and the charisma, your background seems to be clean as a whistle, and you’ve got the kind of connections that can take a man all the way to the top.”

He’d been thinking that same thing. He had connections that went back as far as his fraternity brothers at the USC. With the right moves, the right people behind him…A vision of the White House popped into his head, but he quickly shoved it away. It was way too soon to be thinking like that. Still, as Walter had said, there was no limit to how far he might go.

“There’s just one thing.” Paul Castenado looked a little uneasy and Carson knew exactly his concern—the nemesis who had plagued him since he was a boy.

“My brother.”

“That’s right. We need Zachary on our team. It’s no secret there’s bad blood between you two. It wouldn’t look good if your brother opposed your bid for office.”

Carson worked to keep his voice even. “I can’t guarantee what Zach will do. He’s a wild card. He always has been.”

“Maybe,” Walter said. “Then again, maybe with the right motivation, we can convince him to our way of thinking. That’s the reason I asked you to invite him here tonight.”

And amazingly, Zach had agreed. Carson didn’t like it. Not one bit. But the fact remained, the men were right. It didn’t look good for a member of a candidate’s family to oppose his bid for office. Even if he and Zach were only half brothers.

While the others waited, Ted Meyers disappeared out the door and a few minutes later, Zach walked into the study. Meyers closed the door behind them.

Walter pointed to an empty seat, but Zach sat down in a chair closer to the door.

“I’m here as requested,” Zach said. “What can I do for you, gentlemen?” His brother’s deep voice held the slightly mocking tone Carson had always despised.

“Thanks for coming, Zach.” Charles Hobson’s smile was friendly. Hobson was a big-money real estate developer in Orange County who was fairly well acquainted with Carson’s brother. Through his legal work, Zach knew a lot of important people in Southern California. “Let me introduce you to the group, then we’ll tell you what it is we’ve got in mind.”

What they had in mind, Zach discovered a few minutes later, was to win his support for his brother with promises of future paybacks. A quid pro quo kind of deal. Zach would agree to back his brother’s bid for a seat in the assembly and in return, Carson would use his influence to help Zach get a judgeship in L.A. County. The money wouldn’t be nearly as good as what he made now, but that kind of power was worth a lot.

Or at least that’s what Walter Simino and the rest of the committee believed. And the fact was, with a judgeship he could do a lot of good.

“Once Carson’s elected,” Simono said, “he’ll garner a great deal of influence. If your brother were to run again when his term came to an end, maybe pick up a seat in the state senate, his power would be even greater. He could be a tremendous help to you, Zach. Who knows, maybe sometime in the future, even a seat on the California Supreme Court might not be out of the question.”

They were tossing out a powerful lure. Not that he believed it would actually happen. As the conversation progressed, Zach mostly kept silent. As he listened, he kept thinking of his brother running for political office. He had heard rumors, but he’d never asked Carson about them. Now that he knew those rumors were true, somehow it didn’t surprise him.

Even here, as Carson sat across the room, he wore a politician’s smile.

The conversation reached a pause and Zach rose from his chair. “I think I’ve heard enough. To be honest with you, there is nothing any of you or Carson could offer me that would be of the slightest interest, not even the idea of a judgeship. In regard to his campaign, I won’t promise my support.”

His brother’s jaw faintly tightened.

“On the other hand, I won’t do anything that could hurt him. I won’t take part in anything that might be construed as opposition to his bid for office and I won’t endorse anyone else. That is the best I can do. Have a good evening, gentlemen.”

He turned and headed for the study door.

“What about supper?” Carson asked, amazed, it seemed, that he was leaving.

“No, thanks. But it’s hot as hell out there. If you don’t mind, I’ll have a drink on my way out.” He left the study and made his way back to the parlor. As he had walked into the house, he had spotted Liz Conners near the bar, speaking to the wives of the men in the study.

Curiosity led him in that direction. Curiosity, he told himself, nothing more.

Ignoring the women, he walked straight over to the bar. “Diet Coke with a lime,” he said to the young man pouring drinks.

“Coming right up.” The bartender poured the drink and set the crystal highball glass down on the bar. Zach picked it up and took a swallow, his gaze on Liz Conners. There was a break in the women’s conversation and Liz walked off by herself. He made his way over to where she stood.

“Zachary Harcourt…I have to say, I’m a little surprised to see you here.”

“Why is that? You don’t think I’m the political type?”

“Actually, no.”

“Then you’d be right. As a matter of fact, I’ll be leaving in just a few minutes. I thought I’d come over and say hello before I took off.”

Her gaze moved over his face as if she was trying to figure him out. A dark auburn eyebrow went up as she noticed the drink in his hand.

“Diet soda,” he explained. “I do have a drink on occasion, just not when I’m driving. I was never an addict or an alcoholic. I was just stupid.”

“So you really have reformed.”

“For the most part. I hope I’m never as dull as my brother.”

Her mouth tightened for an instant. She had a pretty mouth, he thought, full lips softly curved, colored a nice shade of pink.

“You don’t think much of each other, do you?” She looked great tonight, even classier than she had that night at the banquet. He wondered how a psychology counselor afforded such expensive clothes. Then again, maybe his brother bought them for her.

“I try my best not to think of Carson at all. Speaking of whom, are you two an item?”

She took a sip of her champagne. “You mean are we seeing each other?”

“I mean, are you involved with him? Are the two of you sleeping together?”

Liz stiffened as he had figured she would. He was testing her, he knew. Still for some odd reason, he really wanted to hear the answer.

“You know, Zach, I don’t think you’ve changed as much as you’d like to believe.”

In some ways, he supposed it was true. “Maybe not.” He drank some of his Diet Coke. “So you aren’t going to tell me?”

“My relationship with your brother is none of your business.”

He looked away, trying not to imagine Liz Conners in Carson’s bed.

“We’re friends,” she finally conceded. “We barely even know each other.”

Zach found himself smiling. “No kidding.”

“Look, Zach. I know you and your brother don’t get along. Maybe paying attention to me is your way of goading him, I don’t know, but—”

“My interest in you has nothing to do with Carson,” he said, surprised to discover it was true. “I just…I don’t know. I always thought you were different somehow. I guess I wanted to know if you still were.”

“So am I?”

From the corner of his eye, he saw his brother and the rest of the men returning to the room. “I don’t know.” He took a long drink of his Diet Coke and set the glass down on the bar. “You’ll enjoy the supper. Carson brings in some of the best chefs in L.A.”

Turning, he started toward the parlor door. For an instant, he thought Liz Conners watched him as he walked away, but it was probably his imagination.

Elizabeth pulled her gaze from Zach Harcourt’s tall, lean figure as he disappeared out of the room. She could still feel a faint buzz of electricity from their brief encounter. He had a way of getting to her, of challenging her, and at the same time looking at her as if he found her incredibly attractive. It annoyed her. And it intrigued her.

Zach Harcourt might no longer have a problem with drugs and alcohol, but he was just as irritating, just as overbearing as he’d been as a boy.

Still, she couldn’t deny she found him attractive. There was something about him, something dark and mysterious that appealed to her in a sexual way. Women always seemed to like bad boys. Apparently, in some primal way, she did, too.

Carson walked up to her just then and her gaze swung to his. He must have noticed where she had been looking because his mouth seemed a little bit tight.

“I hope my brother wasn’t bothering you. He can be fairly obnoxious at times.”

She thought of that day outside Marge’s Café. “I thought he was supposed to be a changed man.”

“Zach’s a lawyer. What can I say?”

She laughed at that. Lawyers never seemed to be anyone’s favorite people. She wondered if Zach was a good one. He seemed a little too outspoken, a little too caustic for a job that often required a good deal of finesse.

“Dinner’s ready,” Caron said. “Why don’t we lead the way into the dining room?”

“Good idea, I’m starving.” Elizabeth smiled, determined not to spare another thought for Zachary Harcourt.

An hour later, it still hadn’t worked.

Seven

The evening finally came to a close, thank God. Though Elizabeth had mostly enjoyed herself, her role as unofficial hostess had convinced her being a politician’s wife had to be a devil of a job.

Since Carson had drunk wine with dinner and an after-dinner cordial, once the limo returned its passengers to the airstrip, he had the long black Cadillac drive Elizabeth home. Carson escorted her, walking her up to the door of her apartment. She thought about inviting him in, but the evening had been long and tiring and she didn’t think he was any more interested in continuing the night than she was.

“Thank you, Carson, for another enjoyable evening.”

“I’m the one who ought to thank you. You were wonderful, Elizabeth. You put everyone at ease and kept the women entertained while we had our meeting. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

She figured he had hosted dozens of parties on his own, but it sounded nice when he said it. “I thought everything went very well. I think your guests had a good time, too.”

He smiled. “I hope so.” Leaning down, he very lightly kissed her. Carson deepened the kiss and Elizabeth kissed him back, sliding her arms around his neck, a little surprised she felt only a mildly pleasant sensation. Carson was a good-looking man. Still, when he let her go and backed away, she wasn’t sorry.

“I’ll call you,” Carson said.

Elizabeth just nodded. “Good night.”

Carson stood on the porch as Elizabeth went inside and closed the door. She thought of his kiss and wondered at her reaction. There was such a thing as chemistry between two people and it didn’t seem to be there with Carson.

Elizabeth thought of the irritating conversation she’d had with his brother, remembered the way Zach had looked at her—as if the heat in those dark eyes could burn right through her dress—and ignored the fluttery feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Crickets chirped in the warm summer air and stars glittered like miniature diamonds in the black night sky. Zach couldn’t see them in L.A. He supposed there was at least one good thing about the dusty little town of San Pico.

Making his way up on the porch, Zach used his key to open the door to the sprawling ranch house that belonged to Lisa Doyle. It was built in one of the better sections of town, three bedrooms, brick trim, shake roof, nicely landscaped, with a pool in the backyard. She had weaseled it out of her ex-husband in a nasty divorce settlement. Second time around for Lisa, who always seemed to come out on top when the dust finally settled.

A good reason to stay single, Zach thought.

The living room was dark when he walked in, though it wasn’t really that late. She’d be waiting in the bedroom, he knew. She had a sexual appetite far beyond most women, which was something he couldn’t complain about, except that when it came to men she was not all that discriminating. Which didn’t say much for him.

As he stripped off his sport coat on the way to the bedroom door, it occurred to him that he didn’t really want to be here tonight. The thought had occurred to him last week, as well, but tonight, for some odd reason, the notion rang with a clarity it somehow hadn’t before.

Still, he had told Lisa he’d be in town and he had no real reason not to join her. Besides, his brief encounter with Liz Conners had left him itching for a hot round of sex and it was certain he wouldn’t be getting it from Liz.

“I thought you’d never get here,” Lisa said as he stepped through the bedroom door. “I’m horny as hell, lover. I need a good fuck. How about you?”

She was wearing red thong panties and nothing else and she walked straight up to him. She pulled his head down for a kiss and he kissed her back. Her hand gripped his crotch through his slacks and she rubbed till he got hard.

Still, he couldn’t seem to really get turned on. He couldn’t seem to get his mind wrapped around the thought of another bout of meaningless sex. He told himself that was exactly the way he liked it—no strings, no involvement.

But even as she led him over to the bed and stripped off the rest of his clothes, his thoughts strayed back to Liz Conners, how pretty she’d looked tonight, how sexy she was, yet exactly the opposite of Lisa. He shook his head, shoving the image away, and tried to concentrate on the gorgeous blonde with the big green eyes and luscious body standing right in front of him.

Oddly, it wasn’t that easy.

Lisa could drive a man crazy with the tricks she knew, but Zach knew them all by now and the allure had long since faded.

Why am I here? he asked himself, but this time couldn’t come up with a satisfactory answer.

“What’s the matter, lover? Too tired?” Naked, he stood next to the bed. Lisa opened one of the foil wrapped packages on the beside table, rolled the condom onto his erection with amazing skill, then shoved him down on the mattress and climbed on top of him. “That’s all right. I’m perfectly willing to do the work.”

And so he let her. There didn’t seem much else he could do and though he was a far different man than he had been before, he was still no saint. Zach closed his eyes and let Lisa work her magic. She brought them both to a powerful climax, but when she started in on him again, he rolled away.

“I need some sleep, Lisa. Sorry.”

Lisa muttered a nasty word and curled on her side away from him. Zach lay there in bed, but as tired as he was, he couldn’t fall asleep.

On Saturday morning, Zach drove out to Teen Vision. The barn was really coming along and just looking at how well their hard work was paying off made him itch to strap on his carpenter’s belt and start hammering nails again.

The boys were already at work, had been since early that morning. The fifteen-acre youth farm grew a variety of crops that took a lot of effort to maintain. Peaches, apricots, oranges, lemons, almonds and pistachios were cultivated in the orchard. There were five acres of alfalfa to help feed the cattle.

The boys kept a large vegetable garden and grew enough corn to sell in local grocery stores. They raised chickens, had four cows in their dairy, along with four white-faced cattle they raised for meat. The farm was nearly self-sufficient, and the boy’s successful operation of such a place gave them a great deal of pride.

Along with their daily chores, they attended a variety of classes, a number dealing with information on the consequences of drug and alcohol abuse. Zach lectured on those subjects several times a year and discovered that being honest about his past gave him a special rapport with the boys.

After his last session, Raul Perez had stayed after class to talk to him. He wanted to know if Zach believed Raul might be able to get into college after he got his GED.

“I think you’d have a very good chance, Raul. It would take a lot of hard work, but anything’s possible. I can tell you that first hand.”

Raul smiled. It was obvious the idea of hard work didn’t bother him. Zach thought that Liz Conners might be right about the kid. There did seem to be something special about him, though Zach couldn’t quite nail down what it was.

As he got out of the Jeep, he spotted the boy walking through the pasture, a big tough-looking kid, hard-edged until you dug a little deeper. Then you saw the same kind of need Zach had felt as a boy, the longing to have someone care about you.

Zach knew the kid had no father and lost his mother just as he entered his teens. His sister and her husband were the only family Raul had.

Zach had parents. Sort of. But Teresa Burgess, his mother, had been too busy keeping Fletcher Carson happy—at least in the beginning—to worry much about her son. Zach had been nine when his parents had ended their longtime relationship and his father had demanded custody of his son.

Teresa had agreed—for a price. She’d sold him like a hunk of meat for a new car and the title to the small house Fletcher had provided for her and Zach. His father had taken him home to live in the big house on Harcourt Farms, but instead of a blessing, it was the beginning of a life in hell.

Zach continued walking, heading for the maintenance shed to retrieve his carpenter’s belt, and Raul started walking his way.

“Need some help?” the boy asked.

“I thought you were feeding the cattle.”

“Already done. The dairy cows, too. I’m pretty good with a hammer.”

He was pretty good at everything around the farm, Zach had noticed. And he actually seemed to enjoy the hard work.

“All right, good. The more help we’ve got, the quicker we get this thing finished. Sam wants to get the alfalfa under cover by the time summer’s over.”

“Sounds like a good idea.” Following Zach into the shed, Raul retrieved another belt, nails and a hammer, and they started toward the barn. For a moment, Raul’s steps slowed, his gaze going over the fields to the bright patches of color on the other side.

“What is it?”

“The roses. They are so beautiful this time of year.”

Six hundred and forty acres of lush, Harcourt Farms roses bloomed in the fields that began at the edge of the property belonging to Teen Vision. From the air, the ground was awash with an incredible array of yellow, flame, red, pink, white and a spread of variegated blossoms. From May through September, when the breeze blew across the fields, the soft scent of roses filled the air.

Zach had always loved the fragrance. Maybe there were two good things about San Pico.

Eight

Maria couldn’t sleep. Miguel was working late again and the house felt oddly empty. She had made a few women friends since she had lived at Harcourt Farms but most of them moved on when the workers headed off for their next job. Her best friend was a girl named Isabel Flores, who worked for Mr. Harcourt and lived in the big house on the farm. Though she was only a few years older than Maria, she was Mr. Harcourt’s housekeeper. She took care of his house…and other of his personal needs.

Isabel had told her that she liked working there, that Mr. Harcourt took very good care of her. She didn’t mind his occasional visits to her bed. In fact, she enjoyed them. And she was careful, she said. Though she had to confess her sin at church on Sunday mornings, she took birth control pills so she wouldn’t get pregnant with his child.

Propped against the headboard in bed, Maria considered getting dressed again and going over to see Isabel tonight. She would tell her best friend what had been happening to her, talk to her about the tests she had taken, the sessions she’d had with Dr. James. But it was really too late for a visit and Miguel would be home soon.

At least she hoped he would be. She thought about returning to the living room to watch a little more TV, but she was tired. When she had returned from her session with Dr. James, she had worked in the vegetable garden, and the heat had exhausted her even more than she had been already. Now it was late and she was sleepy.

She settled lower in the bed, pulling the sheet up beneath her chin, telling herself that now that she understood more about what was happening to her, the dream would not come again. She closed her eyes and tried to fall asleep, but the minutes ticked past and sleep remained elusive.

Instead, she waited, listening for the sound of Miguel’s work boots on the steps outside the back door. More minutes passed. Slowly, her eyelids began to droop. Her body relaxed against the mattress and she slipped into sleep.

It was the cold that awakened her, an icy chill that seeped into her bones like death in a crypt. Even this late, it was almost ninety degrees outside. How could it be so cold in the bedroom? Her teeth began to chatter. She pulled the sheet up over her, reached down for the thin yellow quilt, folded across the foot of the bed.

Her fingers wrapped around the fabric tightly. For the first time, she noticed the sounds…the eerie moaning, the creak and groan like someone walking on the boards in the living room. The fragrance of roses drifted toward her. The odor thickened, grew more dense, turned harsh and cloying, filling her nostrils, burning her throat.

She swallowed, sat there in the bed afraid to move, her fingers frozen around the top of the quilt. Her gaze drifted there, down to the foot of the bed, and her whole body tightened. There was something there, a cloudy, milky image she could see through but not clearly, something with the vague shape of a person.

They’ll take your baby if you don’t leave. They’ll kill your baby.

Maria whimpered. Dios mio! Gooseflesh rose over her skin and her hand started shaking, her knuckles going pale as she gripped the quilt.

They’ll take your baby. They’ll kill your baby if you don’t leave.

She closed her eyes but the image remained, frozen there, behind her quivering eyelids. A child, maybe eight or nine years old, hovering, floating above the floor at the foot of the bed, a little girl, she thought from the sound of the voice, but she couldn’t be sure.

It is not real, she told herself, repeating what Dr. James had said. It is only in your mind.

She whispered a silent prayer, told herself to will the image away, and kept her eyes tightly closed for as long as she dared. She repeated the prayer, whispering frantically to the Blessed Virgin, and when she opened her eyes, she saw that her prayer had been answered.

The eerie sounds slowly melted into silence. Little by little, the harsh smell faded, turning softer, no longer strong, but delicate, almost soothing. The icy chill was gone from the room and the temperature returned to normal.

But her heart still frantically pounded, slamming against her ribs, and her hands felt clammy, her mouth bone-dry. She shifted fearfully on the bed as another sound reached her ears, a familiar shuffling on the back porch stairs, then the smooth glide of the key sliding into the lock.

Miguel was home.

Maria closed her eyes and bit down on her trembling lips, determined not to weep.

Michael James sat behind his desk, listening to the wild tale told by the young Hispanic woman sitting across from him. He had seen Maria Santiago twice this week, but neither of the sessions had proved particularly successful.

“I saw it, Dr. James. Last night, I saw the ghost. Un espectro. I am not imagining it. I saw it with my own two eyes.”

“It wasn’t a ghost, Maria. There is no such thing. What happened is that you suffered an anxiety attack. It’s not uncommon. A lot of people at some time in their lives have experienced panic attacks. Normally, I’d have something prescribed for you, a mild dose of Xanax to help you relax along with some Ambien to help you sleep, but with the baby so far along—”

“I do not need your drugs! There is a ghost in my house and all of the foolish questions you keep asking me are not going to make it go away!”

He kept his voice steady and calm. “There are reasons for the questions, Maria. We’re working to explore your past. We need to discover if something happened to you during your childhood, something that might not seem important, but is. In cases like these—”

“No! You ask about my father. Did he love me? Did I love him? I tell you he left when I was two years old. You ask about my mother. I tell you she loved me and Raul. We had no money and life was hard, but it was not so bad. You tell me I must be worried, feeling this thing you call stress, but I am saying that Miguel and me, we are excited about the baby. Until all of this started, I have never been so happy. You say that I am afraid of something I don’t understand and you are right!”

Her hand clenched into a fist in her lap. “There is a ghost in my house and it is telling me to leave. It is warning me that someone is going to kill my baby!”

Michael took a long, deep breath and released it slowly. “There. Perhaps you have just hit on the answer to your problem. You’re worried about losing the child. You’ve lost a baby before. Perhaps fear for the child you carry is what’s causing your anxiety.”

Maria stood up from her chair. He could see that she was trembling. “You don’t believe me. I knew that you would not.” She turned and started walking toward the door, her belly making her sway a little as she moved.

Michael stood up behind his desk. “Maria, wait a minute. We need to talk about this.”

She just kept walking, making her way across the small reception area, over to the desk. Michael got up and followed her through the door.

“I wish to speak to Ms. Conners. Tell her…tell her Maria Santiago would like to see her.”

“She’s just finishing a session,” the receptionist, Terry Lane, told her. “She should be opening her door any minute.”

“Fine. I will wait.” She sat down heavily on the sofa, her back broomstick straight, chin thrust out.

It was only an instant later that Elizabeth’s door opened and a blond woman and a teenaged girl walked out of the office. Elizabeth followed them into the reception area.

“All right, then. I’ll see you both next week.”

The woman, about forty with frazzled blond hair, just nodded. She motioned for her daughter to leave and both of them headed for the door.

Elizabeth’s gaze lit on Maria, standing next to Terry’s desk. Michael stood patiently waiting.

“Mrs. Santiago would like to talk to you,” Terry told her. Terry was young, in her twenties, with short, spiky blond hair. She had only been working at the clinic for a couple of weeks, and Michael could see she was a bit unnerved.

“That’s right, Elizabeth,” Michael said from his open doorway. “Maria has something she wants to tell you.”

Elizabeth flicked him a glance, caught his silent appeal for help. Sometimes it was difficult to win a patient’s trust and obviously Maria trusted Elizabeth, not him. Michael had considered advising Elizabeth to counsel the girl, but anxiety was more his field of expertise, and they were afraid Elizabeth’s relationship with Maria was too close for her to be completely objective.

Elizabeth smiled at Maria. “I’ve got a few extra minutes. I’ll be happy to help in any way I can.”

“Why don’t we all go back into my office?” Michael suggested, then waited as the women filed past him into the room. They sat down in chairs on the opposite side of his desk, Elizabeth assessing the girl with obvious concern.

“Tell her, Maria. Tell Ms. Conners the story you told me.”

“It is not a story,” Maria said defensively. “Mi casa es encantada.”

Elizabeth’s blue eyes widened, though she kept her features carefully bland. “I thought we discussed this before, Maria. Surely you don’t really believe your house is haunted.”

“But I do. There es un espectro. Last night I saw it.”

“Last night you saw a ghost?”

“Sí, that is right. It was small…like a child. It sounded like a little girl, but I could not tell for sure. The air was freezing cold and I heard the noises. And there was that same sickening-sweet smell. I am not making it up.”

Elizabeth flicked Michael a glance and seemed to consider her reply. “If you are that convinced something happened, then perhaps there is another explanation. Maybe the house is just getting older, making different noises than you’re used to. Maybe the smell is something that has died under the house.”

“I would like to believe it is something like that, but I do not. I only know that something terrible is happening and I am afraid.”

Elizabeth said nothing more and neither did Michael. In all his numerous cases, he had never had to deal with a ghost, but he could see that Maria was truly afraid.

“Perhaps I should speak to Miguel,” Elizabeth suggested. “He could investigate, see what might be causing you all of this worry.”

Maria’s eyes widened in panic. “You must not tell my husband. Miguel will not understand. He will think I am being childish. That is what he says whenever we disagree.”

Michael leaned across his desk. “Listen, Maria, you can’t go on like this. You need to talk to your husband. I need to speak to him, as well.”

Maria shot up from her chair. “No! You think to ask him the same stupid questions you asked me. Well, nothing he says will make any difference. You are wrong about this—both of you. And I am not imagining things.”

Whirling away, she moved clumsily toward the door.

“Maria!” Elizabeth went after her and Michael let them go. There was nothing more he could do—not until the girl was ready to face her problems and accept his help.

He could only hope that Elizabeth would be able to make her see reason and she would return. Until then, Maria was destined to suffer her ghosts.

Friday. Another week in L.A. Another hot July day in the valley. Zach usually drove down after work on Friday night. The case he’d been working on, a lawsuit against a company that produced a drug called Themoziamine, took hours of investigation and planning. But the traffic going over the hill into the San Fernando Valley was murder. He’d worked late all week so that today he could take off early.

The trip had been relatively easy, since he’d gotten on the road at a reasonable time, but it was already hot in San Pico. He swung his brown Jeep Cherokee off Willow Road into the parking lot of the Willow Glen Retirement Home and pulled the car into one of the parking spaces. The asphalt was so hot he could see ripples of heat coming up off the pavement.

He climbed out of the car, took a breath of the burning air and started toward the front door of the main building, a light brown two-story stucco structure. As he walked along, hot air enveloped him. Damn, he was glad he no longer lived in San Pico.

He had almost reached the edge of the parking lot when his gaze caught on a late model, pearl-white Acura a few spaces down from his. Liz Conners drove a car like that. He had seen it the day she came out to tour Teen Vision.

He wondered if the Acura might be Liz’s and picked up his pace, walking faster than he usually did toward the sterile, white-walled room occupied by his father. Seeing the old man lying there staring at the ceiling, or slumped in his wheelchair, always depressed him. But the doctors still held out a small degree of hope that one day he might improve, and either way, Zach wasn’t about to abandon him.

He pulled open the heavy front door and stepped into the air-conditioning, grateful for the burst of cool air against his face. Since he came out to the home whenever he was in town, the receptionist, a small, dark-haired woman with glasses, recognized him.

She smiled. “Hi, Zach. Don’t forget to sign in.”

“I won’t. Thanks, Ellie.” He penned his name and the date and started across the well-appointed lobby down the hall, passing a long line of rooms filled with the elderly. The place was very nice, compared to the kind of rest homes he had read about. No more than two occupants to a room, some of them private, like his father’s. After the terrible fall Fletcher Harcourt had suffered, he’d been brought to Willow Glen to recover as soon as he’d been released from the hospital.

Zach had wanted him to have in-home nursing so that he could live in his own house, but Carson believed he should stay in the nursing home where he could receive more professional care. Since Carson was the eldest, according to provisions in their father’s will, he was named conservator of all of Fletcher Harcourt’s holdings, including the farm and any decisions to do with his health care.

Zach had argued, but Carson had the final say, and their dad had stayed in the home.

Just one more thing to dislike about his brother.

Zach made his way along the hall, glancing into the rooms along the way, until he came to C-14 in the west wing. He recognized the woman walking out of a room just a few doors down and paused there in the hall.

“Hello, Liz.”

She looked up at the sound of her name, came to an abrupt stop in front of him.

“Zachary…” She looked back over her shoulder. “You’re here to see your father?”

He nodded. “I come by whenever I’m in town. What about you?”

“I’m doing a teaching series for the nursing staff.”

“Subject?”

“Geriatric Psychology. Basically, it involves teaching techniques to deal with the elderly.”

“Sounds useful.”

“Every little bit helps.” She turned toward the open door. “I knew your father was in here. I hope he’s doing all right.”

“His condition stays pretty much the same. His legs don’t work quite right. There’s some kind of problem getting signals from the brain. He doesn’t talk much. When he does, he remembers bits and pieces from the past, which he gets mixed up with the present. Nothing about the accident or much about things that have happened since then.”

“I heard about the accident when it happened. He took a fall down the stairs, right? My dad was still alive back then and my sister still lived here. She and her husband moved to San Francisco in March.”

“Tracy, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “Tracy’s a couple years younger.” She looked past him through the doorway to the form on the bed, lying beneath the sheets. “Such a terrible waste. Your father always seemed such a vital man.”

“He could be a real bastard at times. But mostly he was good to me. I owe him a lot. More than I could ever repay.”

“Is there…is there any chance he’ll get better?”

He looked at the man on the bed. “The doctors still hold out hope for him. They say technology is always improving. They say there’s work being done that might allow them to operate, remove the bits of bone that are pressing into his brain. I keep hoping. All of us do.”

Liz looked at him, studying him as if he were a specimen under a glass. “You’re a surprising man, Zach. You’re here to see your father. Sam says you founded Teen Vision. You’ve conquered your drug and alcohol problems and you’re a successful lawyer. You’re also rude and overbearing and irritating as hell. I can’t seem to figure you out.”

Zach grinned. “It’s encouraging to know you’re trying. Why don’t we go out to dinner and you can have another go at it?”

“I told you—”

“Yeah, I know. You’re busy.”

For a moment, she glanced away. “Look, I’d better get going. I’ve got a lot to do back at my office.” She turned and started walking.

“Liz?”

She stopped, slowly turned to face him.

“If you won’t go to out dinner with me, how about lunch?”

She didn’t answer for so long his palms began to sweat. Jesus. The last time a woman did that to him he was in high school.

“When?” she asked and his heart kicked up just like it used to back then.

“How about today? It’s already eleven o’clock. You’ve got to eat and so do I. We can meet at noon, after I’ve had a little time to spend with my father.”

“All right, but if you say Marge’s, the deal is off.”

He laughed. “I was thinking The Ranch House. They’ve got a pretty decent lunch menu.”

“Fine. I’ll meet you at The Ranch House at one.” She started walking again.

“One is fine. One is great. I’ll see you there.” Zach watched her turn the corner and disappear out of sight. She looked different today, all business in a simple coral suit with a plain white, open-collared blouse.

He dried his damp palms on his slacks, his heartbeat once more under control. It was crazy. Women didn’t make him nervous. If anything, it was the other way around. Maybe it was some weird psychological hang-up left over from the big-time brush-off she had given him in high school.

Must be, he told himself. Still, he planned to meet her, and as he walked into his father’s room, it bothered him to realize how much he was looking forward to it.

Nine

Elizabeth shoved through the door of The Ranch House at exactly 1:00 p.m. She was always on time. Her schedule was too tight not to be. Besides, she’d always felt being late was rude.

Surprisingly, Zach was already there, sitting on a bench in the foyer, not pulling the I’m-such-a-busy-guy-I-can-barely-squeeze-you-in routine that a lot of attorneys seemed to do. He looked good. Too darned good. He was fit and trim, his skin tanned from serious hard work instead of a tanning bed. He had thick, nearly black hair that waved just a little and a face as handsome as sin.

He dressed well—a short-sleeved yellow oxford cloth shirt with light beige slacks and Italian loafers. He looked great in his clothes, sophisticated as she had never imagined the ruffian in studded black leather she had known in high school would ever manage.

And yet something of that hard-edged youth remained. It was there in the line of his jaw, the faint curl of his lip, the slightly arrogant set of his shoulders. It seemed to make him all the more attractive.

Which was exactly the reason if she’d had a way to call him she would have cancelled.

“Right on time,” Zach said, coming to his feet the moment he saw her. “I wasn’t sure you would actually show up.”

“I wouldn’t have, if I’d had your cell number. I would have cancelled. This is crazy, Zach. What are we doing here? You and I have nothing in common. I have no idea why you asked me to lunch.”

Elizabeth could hardly believe she’d agreed to meet him. Zachary Harcourt was the last person she wanted to spend time with. To say nothing of the fact she’d been seeing his brother. Carson would be furious if he found out she had met Zach for lunch. Though she didn’t really owe the man any particular loyalty, at least not yet, somehow she felt guilty.

“I asked you to lunch because I don’t like eating alone. And we have lots of things in common.”

A short, overweight hostess appeared just then, ending her reply. The woman jerked a pair of menus out of the holder next to the cash register. “Two of you?”

Zach nodded.

“This way.” The woman started walking and they followed her through the dining room, which was done in a western motif with cattle brands etched into the trim around the windows and doors. At a wooden table, Zach pulled out one of the low captain’s chairs for Elizabeth, then took a seat himself.

“So what exactly is it that we have in common?” Elizabeth took a drink of ice water the hostess brought to the table.

“For one thing, we both have an interest in helping kids improve their lives.” Zach spread his paper napkin across his lap. “And then there’s the fact that we both hate politics.”

“What? That’s crazy. How do you know I hate politics?”

“Come on, Liz. Admit you were bored Saturday night. I could tell the moment I saw you.”

“I wasn’t bored. I was just…I didn’t know any of the guests very well, that’s all.”

“If you had, you would have been even more bored.”

She wasn’t sure whether to be angry or amused. The latter won out and her lips faintly curved. “If you hate politics so much, what were you doing out there that night?”

Zach opened his menu but didn’t start to read. Beneath the edge of his shirtsleeve, a pair of very nice biceps bunched.

“Walter Simino and his cronies were trying to bribe me—figuratively speaking—into supporting my brother’s campaign, assuming there is one. I told them to shove it.”

She fiddled with her menu, trying not to think of the way he had looked that day at Teen Vision, naked to the waist, hammering away on the barn, the muscles across his back stretching and tightening whenever he moved. “So if Carson runs, you intend to side with the opposition?”

“I didn’t say that. I told them I’d stay neutral.”

“Why?”

“Why, what?”

“You don’t like your brother. It’s unlikely you’d ever vote for him. Why did you agree to stay neutral?”

Zach breathed a sigh. His eyes were interesting, she thought, not just brown, but with tiny gold flecks in the irises that seemed to glow when he looked at her.

“To tell you the truth, I’m not exactly sure why I agreed. Maybe trying to hurt him that way just seemed too petty. Maybe I felt I owed it to my father. Besides, I’m too busy to get involved one way or another.”

The waitress appeared at the table, ready to take their orders. With only a quick glance at the menus, both of them ordered hamburgers and fries, though Elizabeth generally nibbled at the side dish, knowing how fattening it was.

“So what kind of law do you practice?” she asked as the waitress left and they waited for their meal to arrive.

“Mostly personal injury.”

“You’re an ambulance chaser? I never would have guessed.”

Zach laughed, the sound deep and easy, rolling over her like ripples in a stream. Dammit, she wished she weren’t so aware of him. But even when she’d been a senior in high school working at the café, she had noticed him whenever he came in. Zach was four years older, one of the best-looking boys in town. Just watching him walk through the door made something flutter in the pit of her stomach. But Zach was always in trouble, always hanging around with a bad element. Even then, she had thought it was a pity.

“Actually, we specialize in small class-action suits. We don’t do big mass torts. We prefer to handle a manageable number of clients at one time. Currently, we’re working on a pharmaceuticals case involving a drug called Themoziamine. Normally, we don’t go after the pharmaceutical companies. That’s just not our thing, but this came to us through one of our former clients and involves only a limited number of people.”

“What was the problem?”

“The drug causes brain damage in certain individuals—a higher than acceptable percentage, we believe. We’re trying to get it taken off the market.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“We’re the good guys, as far as I’m concerned. A couple years back our firm worked on a case involving three-wheeled vehicles. Nearly fifty thousand people a year were being injured, a lot of them being paralyzed or killed riding the damned things. We were able to prove the company knew the risk factor, even set money aside for settlements in their annual budget in the amount needed to cover them. The jury wasn’t happy to find that out, and eventually we were able to get them taken out of production.”

“I remember that case. As I recall, the settlement was huge.”

“Over two hundred and fifty million.”

“Wow, no wonder you can afford Armani.”

He grinned. God, he had the whitest teeth…or maybe it was just that his face was so darkly tanned. “If you noticed, I guess it was worth it.”

Oh, she’d noticed, all right. At the moment, she was noticing how great he looked just sitting there, and she wanted to kick herself for it.

The waitress arrived, providing a timely diversion. She set their hamburger platters down on a placemat decorated with cattle brands around the edge, and the aroma of freshly grilled meat rose up, making her stomach growl.

Zach didn’t seem to notice. “So what about you?” Wrapping long, tapered fingers around the hamburger, he picked it up in both hands. “You’re a social worker, right?”

“Independent family counselor.”

“Okay, so are you working on any interesting cases?”

He took a big bite of his burger and she watched the muscles in his neck move up and down. He might be good-looking, but there was nothing the least bit effeminate about Zachary Harcourt. Every move he made screamed masculine and virile, and Elizabeth found herself shifting in her chair.

She picked up her knife and cut her hamburger in half just to give herself something to do. “Actually, I’m working on one of the most interesting cases I’ve ever been involved with—a young woman who believes she’s being visited by a ghost.”

He nodded as if that was no big deal, swallowed a large bite of burger. “Maria Santiago. The doctors think she’s crazy. I heard about that.”

“You know Maria? She told you about the ghost?”

“I know her brother, remember? We’ve been talking some lately. The subject of his sister came up. Apparently Maria told Raul about her ghost, and about her sessions with Dr. James.”

Elizabeth sat up straighter. “Well, Michael certainly doesn’t think she’s crazy. He thinks she’s suffering from anxiety, and so do I.”

“Michael?”

“He’s my boss at the clinic.”

“Just boss or something else?”

A surge of anger rolled through her. “Why are you so fixated on my love life? Every time I see you, you’re trying to find out who I’m sleeping with.”

He set the last of his hamburger down on his plate. “So who are you sleeping with?”

“None of your damned business!” Tossing down her napkin, Elizabeth shoved back her chair and stood up.

Zach stood up, too. “Wait a minute. I’m sorry, okay? I just wanted to know if you were involved with anyone.”

“Well, I’m not. Now are you happy?”

He grinned. “Yeah, I am.”

They stood there until people started to stare and she had no choice but to sit back down.

“Where were we?” he asked. “Aside from the fact you’re celibate at the moment.”

The man was outrageous! She had no idea why she found herself biting back a smile. “We were talking about Maria Santiago, and I’ve already said more than I should.”

“She isn’t your patient, is she?”

“Well, no. Not officially. She asked me to sit in on her session with Dr. James as a friend.”

“Then there isn’t a problem. Eat your French fries. They’re getting cold.”

She picked one up and dipped it into the ketchup she had poured on her plate. “Maria refuses to see Dr. James again.”

“I think I can understand that.” Zach oversalted his fries, then picked one up, tossed it into his mouth, and chewed with obvious relish. “According to Raul, Maria made him promise not to tell her husband what’s been going on in the house, but the girl is convinced the ghost is real.”

“Why did Raul tell you all this?”

Zach shrugged. “Like I said, we’ve been talking. I come up a lot on the weekends. We’re trying to get the barn built, you know? Working with the boys gives me a chance to get to know them, try to encourage them. I teach a class on drug and alcohol abuse. I talk about my past and how it’s possible to change your life if you want to bad enough. By the way, I think you’re right about Raul. He seems like a really good kid.”

“And he told you about his sister?”

He nodded, swallowed a bite of ketchup-and-oversalted French fry. “Yeah. He’s really worried about her.”

“What did he say about the ghost?”

“He says he believes her. That’s the reason he talked to me about it. He knows I’m a lawyer. Raul wanted me to speak to my brother, see if there was somewhere else Miguel and Maria could live.”

“I don’t believe this. She actually wants to move out of the house?”

“Apparently so. Whatever’s going on, there’s no way my brother’s going to inconvenience himself because one of his farm workers believes in ghosts.”

A shadow passed over the table. Elizabeth glanced up as a tall blond man approached, and the guilt she’d felt earlier rose up again.

“Well, speak of the devil,” Zach said, his expression going hard.

Carson stopped beside her chair and there wasn’t the least hint of a smile on his face. “I thought you had more sense,” he said, bringing a flush to her cheeks.

Zach shoved to his feet, one hand unconsciously fisting. “Leave her alone, Carson.”

If Elizabeth had ever needed evidence the man had been in prison she saw it now in his face. Hard, cold, dangerous. Even lethal was a word that came to mind.

“She needed to talk to me about one of her cases,” Zach said, “a boy at Teen Vision. That’s why she agreed to come to lunch.”

Carson’s disapproving gaze swung to her. “That right?”

Elizabeth didn’t flinch, though it wasn’t that easy to do. “It doesn’t matter why I’m here. I can to go to lunch with anyone I want, Carson. Even your brother. Just because we’ve been out a couple of times doesn’t give you any say in what I do.”

Carson’s jaw tightened.

Zach seemed surprised she hadn’t gone along with the half-truth he had invented to give her an easy out. She didn’t need his protection. She didn’t really care what Carson thought.

Carson forced a smile. “I suppose that’s true.” His gaze fixed on Zach. “How’s Lisa?” A sarcastic edge crept into his voice, and Zach’s eyes darkened in warning.

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen her since I left town last week.”

“If I happen to run into her, I’ll tell her you said hello.” Carson walked away and Elizabeth’s gaze swung to Zach.

“Lisa?”

“Lisa Doyle. We see each other sometimes when I come up on the weekends.”

Lisa Doyle. The name leached the blood from her face. She knew Lisa Doyle. Their enmity went back a long way. “You’re seeing Lisa Doyle?”

“Not exactly. We’re not really involved, if that’s what you mean.”

Elizabeth rose shakily from her chair, her stomach twisted into a knot. “Not really involved? You mean you’re just screwing her. Why am I not surprised?” He was Zachary Harcourt, after all. When he was young, he had used women like Kleenex and tossed them away. She wasn’t about to be treated like one of them.

Opening her purse, she took out her wallet and tossed enough bills on the table to pay for her lunch and a tip.

Zach snatched up the bills and stood up. He thrust the money in her direction. “I invited you to lunch and dammit, I don’t answer to Lisa any more than you answer to Carson.”

“I’m not sleeping with Carson.” Ignoring his outstretched hand, she turned and started walking, but Zach caught her arm.

“Look, I didn’t handle this right. It was a spur-of-the-moment invitation. I didn’t think it would matter. I’m sorry.”

She looked at him and something twisted inside her. “Funny thing is, so am I.”

She shouldn’t have let it bother her. So what if Zach was seeing someone? She’d been dating Carson, hadn’t she? And it was only a friendly lunch.

But Zach had been pressing her for a date for the past two weeks and he hadn’t mentioned that he was involved with someone. That it was Lisa Doyle, the woman who had destroyed her marriage, made her stomach roll with nausea.

Her hands tightened on the steering wheel as she drove back to the office, a memory stirring of the weekend she and Brian had come back to San Pico three years ago to attend her high school class reunion. He’d insisted she go, perhaps because they had been having problems in their marriage. Brian was always working late, even on the weekends, and Elizabeth had begun to grow suspicious.

That night had been glorious, seeing old friends, Brian more solicitous that he had been in months. She had been talking to Gwen and her husband, dancing with some of the guys she’d known in high school. She didn’t even notice when Brian slipped away.

Then the band had taken a break and she couldn’t seem to find him. He’d had a lot to drink and she was worried about him driving the car back to her sister’s house where they were staying. More and more concerned, she walked out in the parking lot in search of him. That’s when she spotted the Lexus—and saw that it was moving, rocking back and forth on its springs.

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