Could the safest place be in his arms?

Desperate to escape the media firestorm surrounding her duplicitous late husband, San Francisco designer Lana Corday flees to the Outer Banks of North Carolina. Her idyllic seaside home is the perfect place for a fresh start…especially when Lana meets sexy hunk Tennison West. But is the enigmatic filmmaker a man she can rely on or just another disappointment waiting to happen?

Getting Lana to let down her guard will take patience…and passion. Their mounting desire threatens to blow Ten’s cover, yet neither of them wants to turn back now. But once Lana discovers why Ten really came to isolated Pea Island, how will the FBI special agent ever regain her trust? As danger looms, Ten must succeed in his most important mission, or risk losing the woman who’s claimed his heart….

Ten escorted her to the dance floor and pulled her into his arms. He knew this was a mistake.

She pressed her body close and they began moving in sync. He forgot she was off-limits, that this was a ruse to get a rise out of her now ex-husband. When she relaxed and laid her head on his chest, he closed his eyes and willed himself not to physically react to the smell of her hair and the feel of her skin. The dress she was wearing left her arms and part of her back bare and her skin was silky and warm. She smelled of honeysuckle, fresh. He breathed her in.

Lana’s body trembled slightly. Was there any turning back from this? Their first dance on her dad’s deck had been nothing like this. It felt like a prelude to lovemaking and not just lovemaking but hot, uncontrollable, mind-blowing sex.

She tilted her head up and as soon as she met his eyes, she knew: He felt it, too.

He wanted her, wanted her as much as she wanted him. She took a deep breath and let it out. “We’re in trouble, aren’t we?”

JANICE SIMS

is the author of twenty-one novels and has had stories included in nine anthologies. She is the recipient of an Emma Award for her novel Desert Heat and two Romance in Color awards: an Award of Excellence for her novel For Keeps and a Best Novella award for her short story in the anthology A Very Special Love. She has been nominated for a Career Achievement Award by RT Book Reviews and her novel Temptation’s Song was nominated for Best Kimani Romance Series in 2010 by RT Book Reviews. A longtime member of Romance Writers of America, she lives in Central Florida with her family.

Escape with Me

Janice Sims

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Dear Reader,

How well do you know your significant other? I’ve been married for a lot of years, but just the other day my husband said something that made me rethink how well I really know him. Luckily, in most relationships, the secrets each partner keeps are not the sinister kind. In this story, however, Lana Corday is devastated by her husband’s secrets. Will she allow his behavior to derail her life? Or will she pull herself together and maybe even get a little payback in the process?

If, after reading Escape with Me, you’d like to send me a message you can email me at Jani569432@aol.com or visit my website, www.janicesims.com. I’m also on Facebook.

For those of you who’re not yet online, you can write me at Post Office Box 811, Mascotte, FL 34753-0811.

All the best,

Janice Sims

Thanks, again, to Shannon Criss, whose editorial assistance was very much appreciated. Also thanks to all the lovely people of the Outer Banks who were so friendly and didn’t mind answering my many questions about their home!

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Epilogue

Chapter 1

“Do you want your life back?” Grant Robinson asked Lana Corday as he stared intensely into her big brown eyes. Lana swallowed hard and lowered her gaze.

Grant, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, was her attorney and one of the few men she still trusted.

He sat behind his cherrywood desk while Lana, too restless to sit, stood. He observed her as she mentally wrestled with his question. She had a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose and wide-spaced eyes that made her face, if not classically beautiful, very appealing. Her nose was strong, which gave her character, and her full mouth with a plump lower lip made him wonder about her stamina in bed. An inappropriate thought, since he was her attorney. But he was also a man. She was five-nine, had mocha-colored skin, her eyes were a warm brown with gold striations in them, and she had chin-length burnt-auburn hair—a shade of which Grant had never seen on any other woman. Once he’d asked her where she’d gotten that shade of hair, she’d laughed and said her great-grandfather was Scottish.

Lana sighed and walked over to the huge picture window in Grant’s San Francisco office.

She could see the Golden Gate Bridge from there. A few luxury yachts were in the Bay along with commercial cargo ships. San Francisco was her dream city. She adored the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. Loved traipsing all over Fisherman’s Wharf and often ending her visit with dinner at Alioto’s. And she never tired of the luxury of the Palace Hotel. But now the city had lost its charm for her.

She turned back to face Grant. He was watching her with a quizzical expression on his handsome, tanned face. In a gesture of frustration he ran his hand through his thick, dark brown wavy hair that had begun to gray at the temples. Sighing, he asked, “Are you ever going to answer me? He abandoned you, Lana. It’s time you admitted that.”

“He was blown up on his boat. That’s not abandonment, that’s death,” Lana said, still sticking to her assertion that Jeremy was deceased and not a criminal on the run as Grant and any number of other people, including the FBI, believed.

Looking out over the Bay again, her mind took her back to that fateful day nearly six months ago when Jeremy had kissed her goodbye and left for an outing on their yacht. “Just a few hours to clear my mind, babe,” he had jauntily said before disappearing from her life forever.

Minutes later she was racing down to the dock next to the boathouse at their Bay-area home and looking in horror at what was left of the yacht, smoldering, listing leeward in the water. It had blown up with Jeremy aboard before it had even gotten fifty yards from the dock.

“There’s no evidence Jeremy was onboard,” Grant reminded her doggedly. “Believe me, if he had been killed aboard that yacht, forensics would have found at least some of his DNA. In two days he was going on trial for fraud, and if he lost his case he was going to be locked up for a very long time. He didn’t want to go to prison so he blew up his own yacht and disappeared, hoping that desperate act would convince the authorities he was dead.”

Lana stubbornly shook her head. She clasped the gold locket around her neck, a gift from Jeremy. “No, he loved me. He wouldn’t have intentionally left me to face this on my own. He has to be dead.”

Grant had seen this before, the loyalty of abandoned women who clung to any shred of hope where their worthless husbands were concerned. Although with Lana Corday, her husband had been worthless on a monumental scale. He’d allegedly bilked nearly half a billion dollars from investors who had trusted him with their hard-earned savings, many of them retirees hoping to make their golden years easier. Since Jeremy had “blown up” on his yacht, the authorities had successfully tracked down a small portion of the pilfered funds. The bulk of it was still missing, though.

As for Lana, she seemed to subsist on the belief that her husband was dead and that had been the only reason he was not around now facing the music and defending that he was not the villain the press had painted him to be.

By virtue of her connection with him, she was also being vilified. Before her husband’s legal problems, Lana had been a successful interior designer. Now her client list was dwindling at an incredible rate. With Jeremy’s assets frozen, she had to depend on what little savings she had prior to this whole mess. Plus, whatever she earned.

With clients abandoning her left and right, she could barely pay her bills anymore.

Grant gestured to the leather chair in front of his desk. “Sit down, Lana, and listen to me.” He watched as she sat down, a lithe figure in a slim-fitting off-white sleeveless dress whose hem fell just above her well-shaped knees. Her style was classic yet casual.

She crossed her legs and hugged herself. Grant noticed that she’d lost weight since the last time he’d seen her. Tall and athletic, Lana had a healthy, fit body that she kept in shape by running, weight-lifting, and yoga. He feared that she’d started exercising at the detriment of her health: running away from her problems. Her arms, formerly well-formed and muscled but feminine, were now looking a bit masculine. His biceps weren’t even that defined and he worked out nearly every day.

He continued in a gentle voice. “I’ve drawn up divorce papers for you to sign, Lana. I’m your friend. Have been since we met more than five years ago; before you met Jeremy, I might add. I wouldn’t suggest you do this unless I was sure it’s the way out of your financial problems. In the state of California you are within your rights to divorce a husband on grounds of abandonment.”

“I didn’t ask you to draw up divorce papers!” Lana cried, clearly upset by the notion. Her brilliant brown eyes sparked angry fire at him.

“Now, hear me out,” Grant pleaded. “Divorcing Jeremy would send a message to everyone concerned that you’re separating yourself from him and everything he’s accused of. Let’s be practical, Lana. The house and everything else of value has been seized by the government. You’re living in a one-room apartment. You have very few clients anymore. You can’t live on air. Sure, you were doing very well before you met him and you could do well without him once again, if only your association with him didn’t taint you, but it does! You have to send a clear message that you’re washing your hands of him so that you can reclaim your life.”

Lana stood up suddenly. Tears sat in her eyes. “I’ll have to think about it,” she said with finality.

“You do that,” said Grant, keeping his tone soft so as not to upset her further. “But I’ve got one more thing to say. Stop punishing yourself. You’ve lost weight, chopped off your hair and I suspect you’re also overdoing the running, am I right?”

He waited, his eyes remaining on her stricken face. He knew he’d struck a nerve.

“It’s the only thing that gets me tired enough to sleep,” she mumbled in her defense. “I’m trying not to resort to pills.”

“Kudos on that,” Grant said. “I don’t want you going anywhere near pills. But I do want you to take a good look at yourself in the mirror when you get home and ask yourself why you’re putting yourself through hell over a man who never deserved you in the first place. You come from a lineage of tough North Carolinians. I remember you telling me about your great-grandfather who was a rescue-station commander in the Outer Banks in the late 1800s, and how your father, Aaron, rescued a family after their boat sank off shore near his Pea Island home. How would he react if he saw you right now?”

He could see the horror at that prospect mirrored in her eyes. He laughed softly.

“Have you even told your father what you’re going through?”

“I gave him the basics,” Lana allowed. She took a deep breath. “He told me to come home.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Because I can take care of myself,” she said, as if that were explanation enough. Then, as though their conversation were over, she added, “Thanks, Grant. I’ve got to be going.”

She hurriedly pulled on her jacket. The March morning air was a bit chilly in the city.

“Don’t wait too long to make a decision about the divorce,” Grant warned. “You could go visit your dad for a few months and come back a free woman and ready to start your life over.”

Lana found herself laughing softly at Grant’s ludicrous suggestion as she hurried to the bank of elevators in the elegant building in which Grant had his offices. The building boasted plenty of glass and steel, the former allowing in lots of sunshine to brighten up the modern interior of marble floors, sparse, ultra-modern furnishings and colorful paintings on the walls by local artists, a breed that in Lana’s opinion, San Francisco never seemed to run out of.

She continued to laugh. Grant was such an optimist. If only it were that easy to start over again. But, how do you go on when the love of your life turns out to be a criminal? It might have appeared that she was the long-suffering widow, but her father had not raised a fool. She knew a little about boats, having been raised on them by a fisherman father. She had known that yacht like the back of her hand. She knew how to pilot it. She had been the one to teach Jeremy. There was no way that boat could blow up without being sabotaged. She had had it inspected less than a month before the incident. Jeremy, of course, had not known that. He left such things to her. The boat mechanic had gone down his semi-annual checklist. The fire inspector had said the explosion had been caused by a faulty fuel system. There was a leak and upon ignition, a spark had lit the fuel thereby causing the yacht to explode. But the boat mechanic was a man Lana had trusted the past four years to do a thorough job of maintaining the yacht. He had checked for leaks, corrosion, and crack-free hoses— even if there was adequate slackness to account for any vibration that could cause the hoses to wriggle loose. Of course the mechanic had been interviewed by the police and had sworn that he had given the yacht a complete inspection and had found nothing at all wrong with the fuel system.

Lana suspected the fuel system had been tampered with. And the only person who could have done it was Jeremy. The question was why? That had been the first instance in which her faith in her husband had been shaken. Since then, in retrospect, she realized that a lot of things Jeremy had done had been suspicious.

She laughed again, and this time she wasn’t alone. The man in the elevator with her laughed nervously along with her. She supposed he thought it was best to humor an insane person.

Lana looked at him and said, “Sorry, something just struck me as funny and I had to laugh.” To keep from crying, she thought.

Why had Jeremy faked his death? Because he was guilty of the charges leveled against him, that’s why. He was a slimy con artist. If she hadn’t been so blindly in love she would have spotted the characteristics that were so apparent to her now. He could charm anyone. It didn’t matter if the victim was male or female. Inside of two minutes he would have you eating out of his hand. But while he could extract every little secret out of you, and appeared to be pouring his heart out to you, he actually revealed very little about himself. He said he was an orphan who grew up in the system so there were no relatives who could corroborate his claims. Another one of his lies, as it turned out.

On the street, Lana walked with purpose. She was scheduled to meet a potential client at a coffeehouse only a few blocks from here. Over the phone, Gia Burrows had sounded enthusiastic and honestly impressed with Lana’s past projects in and around the city. Gia said she was a friend of a long-time client of Lana’s and said that client had suggested she meet Lana. Curiously, she had not told Lana the name of the person who had referred her.

Minutes later, she was standing in front of the trendy coffeehouse. Suddenly nervous, she smoothed her dress down in an attempt to hide the fact that she was wiping her sweaty palms. Taking a deep breath, she entered the establishment and her eyes scanned the place. Young professionals, mostly, populated the tables and booths. The delightful smell of fresh-roasted coffee assailed her nostrils and relaxed her. She could use a cup of java.

A petite brunette wearing designer jeans and a sleeveless silk top in jade stood up and waved her over. “Lana?” she called.

Smiling, Lana crossed the room and shook hands with the woman who appeared to be in her early thirties. Sitting down, Lana said, “Hello, Gia, nice to meet you”

Gia smiled. “Thanks for meeting me. I’m at my wit’s end trying to get our place done before July. Derek’s parents are supposed to come for a month-long visit and his mother hates me, totally hates me. The last time she visited all she did was complain about the amateurish way I’d decorated the house.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Her family owned a mansion on Nob Hill. She and my father-in-law live in Montecito now. By comparison, I come from the ranch-house set. She never lets me forget how lucky I am to have landed Derek.”

Lana’s first impression was that she liked Gia Burrows. However, lately, due to what she’d gone through with Jeremy, she reserved judgment.

“I feel for you,” she told Gia with a smile. “But if you don’t mind me asking before we go any further, who was it that referred you to me?”

Gia was one of those people who turned red when she was embarrassed. That was the first clue that something was wrong here.

She cleared her throat. “Well, actually, I...um...read about you online.” She smiled, showing perfect white teeth. Looking sheepish, she continued, “I thought it would totally piss my mother-in-law off when she found out who decorated the house. She and my father-in-law had invested money with your late husband.”

Lana was speechless with shock after hearing that. However, somewhere in the back of her mind she was thinking she really shouldn’t be surprised that the only reason someone was thinking of hiring her was to piss someone else off. She was also disgusted with herself because she was seriously thinking of accepting the assignment. After all, she had bills to pay.

The part of her that still had some pride wouldn’t bend to the desperate Lana in her, though.

She got up. As she looked down at Gia Burrows who was still sitting, she said, “Look, I’m not judging you on how you get your jollies. Several of my clients have just picked me out the phone book, but the reason you chose me makes me leery. So, I’ll have to say no thanks.”

Gia looked genuinely let down by her decision. Pouting, she said, “Are you sure? I’d pay you anything you asked for. If you met my mother-in-law, I assure you that you’d totally be on my side.”

“Look, Gia, if you should change your mind and you seriously want to work with me and it’s not just to stick it to your mother-in-law, then you know how to reach me. You say you have read about me online. Then you know my life is pretty screwed up right now. I’m barely keeping my head above water and I don’t have time for frivolous offers of work. I need concrete business opportunities.”

With that, Lana left the coffeehouse.

She heard Gia mutter, “Damn!” as she walked away.

* * *

Lana had already quickly walked three blocks back in the direction of Grant’s office building. Her encounter with Gia had helped her make up her mind about the divorce. Jeremy was most likely somewhere getting on with his life. It was time she got on with hers.

She took out her cell phone and dialed Grant’s cell phone.

“Hey, Lana,” he answered in his usual upbeat manner.

“Are you busy right now?”

“Yes, but I can see you in half an hour,” he replied.

“Great. I’m coming to sign those papers.”

“All right,” he answered cheerfully. “See you soon.”

She then hung up the phone. Damn you, Jeremy, for putting me in this position. You’d better run. Run far away. Because if I ever get my hands on you again, you’re going to be in for a world of pain.

As Lana shoved her phone into its slot in her purse, she heard heavy breathing behind her. She turned to see Gia Burrows hurrying toward her.

“Lana, wait. You’re right. I wanted to hire you for all the wrong reasons.” Gia stopped in front of her and took a moment to catch her breath. “I apologize, but I really need you. I know you’re one of the best and if you’ll forgive me for my crassness I’m ready to make you a serious offer.”

Lana smiled at her. Was she going to turn down a genuine offer of employment? No way. She stuck out her hand for Gia to shake. “Apology accepted.”

Chapter 2

Tennison Isles made it a habit of taking the stairs. His work schedule made it difficult to get to the gym every day. However, as a special agent with the FBI he had to stay in good physical condition. As he stepped onto the thirteenth floor from the stairwell this morning, he had nearly collided with the special-agent-in-charge, Josh Kagen.

Kagen was in his mid-forties, of average height, and stocky with thick brown hair that he wore so close to his scalp from a distance he looked bald. Ten was thirty-five years old, six foot four, weighed 225 and his body was honed not just from walking up stairs but running, weight-lifting and twenty years of martial arts.

“Ten, you’re just the guy I wanted to see. I suppose you heard about that Corday investor who tried to commit suicide. If his wife hadn’t come home in the nick of time, he would have done himself in using a 1965 Mustang. He’d passed out, and she got there in just enough time to turn off the ignition and open the garage door.”

Ten was about to say that he’d heard the report on the morning news. The deputy director often asked rhetorical questions, especially when he felt strongly about a case, as he did about the Jeremy Corday case.

Kagen began walking toward his office. Ten fell into step beside him.

“I feel for the family,” Ten said, “And the widow. I’m sure she was glad the hoopla had died down a bit. Now the media will be clamoring for her thoughts on the matter.”

Those who worked the case had started referring to Lana Corday as the widow even though they didn’t believe Jeremy Corday was dead.

“How is he?” Ten inquired about the man who had attempted suicide. He was certain Kagen, known for his thoroughness, had gotten an update on the man’s condition.

“He’s going to be fine,” said Kagen as he opened the door to his office and entered the large utilitarian furnished space. It complemented its owner, as it was highly efficient.

Kagen did not sit down but paced the room as he continued, “I don’t know about you, Ten, but I’m feeling mighty frustrated with the lack of progress we’ve had finding Corday. There’s no paper trail, no sighting of him on airport security cameras, absolutely nothing! People are suffering because of him. Losing their homes, senior citizens have had to go out and find work to make ends meet in this economy.” He punched the air with clenched fists. “I know he’s got that money stashed in a bank in the States, possibly right here in San Francisco. But if his wife is somehow hiding something or is the key to the location of those funds, we haven’t been able to connect her.”

Ten had headed the team that had had Lana Corday under surveillance for the past seven months. He knew her personal life inside and out. What time she left her apartment in the morning, how often she ran, whom she saw during the day, and which jobs she was currently working on. If Jeremy Corday had tried to contact her, Ten would have known. Her phone records were devoid of anything out of the ordinary. No calls from a fugitive husband.

“Maybe he’s truly dead,” Ten ventured. He didn’t really believe it, but was being the devil’s advocate just for the sake of argument.

“He’s too slippery to be dead,” Kagen quickly stated. Scowling, he faced Ten. “There’s got to be a way to smoke that rat out of his hidey-hole.”

Ten had been giving that particular challenge some thought. Before he could reason with himself or talk himself out of speaking up at the risk of his idea sounding far-fetched and subsequently being shot down by Kagen, he cleared his throat and said, “I really don’t think Corday is going to show his face in San Francisco. There’s too much of a chance of his being spotted. But, if we could get the widow in a more remote location, say maybe, the Outer Banks, where Lana’s father lives, your rat might nibble on the bait.”

“But how do you propose we accomplish that, short of going to her and asking her to help us entrap her husband? I doubt she’d go for that even if she had no clue as to his business dealings and it’s beginning to dawn on her what kind of man she married.”

“No, but maybe her father isn’t such a big fan of Corday’s,” Ten suggested.

Interested, as the spark in his gray eyes proved, Kagen said, “Go on.”

“I can go to Mr. Braithwaite and explain our predicament, emphasizing the fact that his daughter could very well be in danger. What if she’s in possession of something Corday needs in order to access the rest of the money? I believe her when she says he never gave her a safe-deposit key or any other important item for safe keeping. That doesn’t mean he didn’t hide something in her personal possessions that she’s unaware of. She needs our protection. A father might respond to that.”

Kagen smiled. “You have my permission to give it a shot.”

* * *

“Lana, Lana! A word, please?”

It was dusk, and Lana had just returned home after a long day of putting the finishing touches on the Burrows house in the Russian Hill area. Reporter Gary Randall from the local ABC affiliate was very familiar to her. He was lean, had the polished good looks of an All-American athlete and was relentless when chasing down a story.

Although she wanted nothing more than to get inside her apartment, take off her shoes and relax, she turned to him with a resigned sigh, thinking that it was best to just get it over with. She already knew why he was here.

Luckily, the three-story Victorian home on Lombard Street where she had a one-room apartment was deserted this time of day. Her landlady didn’t get home from her nursing job until after nine. The news van had drawn several curious neighbors to their windows for a look-see, though. A few were coming outside to get a better view.

Randall stood close to her as he began his questioning. “Lana, are you aware that one of your husband’s victims tried to commit suicide?”

He didn’t wait for her to comment before continuing with his line of questioning. “How do you feel about that? Do you feel guilty or sorry that the family suffered a near-tragedy? Or do you feel removed from it all? As if you bear no blame because, as you maintain, you knew nothing of your husband’s fraudulent behavior?”

Lana looked straight into the camera. “I was very relieved to hear that Mrs. Carter got home in time to save her husband’s life. I wish him a speedy recovery. And I hope the authorities will soon track down the funds that were taken from so many honest, hard-working people.” She smiled warmly, after which she turned and went inside.

Gary Randall continued calling questions to her retreating back. When she firmly closed the door in his face he turned back around and said into the camera, “As you can see, Lana Corday remains one cool customer, showing no emotions whatsoever in the face of this horrible, horrible development in her husband’s ongoing case.”

* * *

“What a prick!” Gia said upon seeing the report the next day at noon while she and Lana were in the beautifully decorated kitchen of her home. It was her new favorite room in the house. Lana had turned what was once a cold, austere place into a warm, inviting room that was now deservedly the center of the home. She loved the rich earth tones of the tile on the floor and the cabinets and the deep red of the backsplash. There were two islands, one for food preparation, the other for family and guests to gather around to eat the meals Gia and her husband would cook. They were both budding chefs who loved feeding friends and family.

Lana looked across one of the islands into the face of the woman she had come to consider a friend. During the three months it had taken her to redecorate Gia’s home, they had shared confidences. Lana had told her she suspected Jeremy was still alive and was guilty of the charges leveled against him. Gia had told Lana that at first Derek had married her to spite his overprotective rich parents, but they had fallen in love and now they were devoted to each other. So much so that Derek had given his blessings when she’d told him she wanted to hire Lana to decorate their home. Gia had to promise Derek not to gloat about it to her mother-in-law. That admittedly took some fun out of it for Gia, but she agreed to her husband’s terms. Now she and Lana were sitting on high stools enjoying cups of Colombian coffee. Lana’s eyes were on the TV. Gary Randall had just made that comment about her being a cool customer. Yet, Lana Corday was anything but the emotionless character that Gary Randall was trying to convince everyone she was. Lana fought back tears.

Gia got up and turned the TV off. “Enough of that,” she said with a grin. She spun around on her designer heels. “It’s time to pay up for the fantastic job you did. And I haven’t forgotten I promised you anything you asked for. So...” She whipped out her checkbook and stood with a pen poised over it.

Lana laughed. “Please, Gia, there is already one too many con artists in my family. Just pay me what we agreed on and not one penny over the going rate for my expertise, thank you very much!”

“I didn’t mean anything by that, Lana, I promise you. I was joking.”

“I know that,” Lana assured her. “You were just having fun, something that has been missing from my life for a while now. But I do still recognize it when I see it.”

Lana wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes. She wasn’t wasting any more tears on men like Gary Randall or Jeremy. “So, no apology needed.”

Gia brightened. As she wrote the check, she said, “Have you ever thought of getting out of town for a while? Just for a change of scenery? I mean, why subject yourself to the likes of Gary Randall when you could be elsewhere?”

“Just stubborn, I guess,” Lana told her as she accepted the check. “I haven’t done anything wrong and I’m not going to let them chase me out of town.”

Gia smiled at her. “I can understand that. I come from a lot of stubborn Greeks who never ever give up. But everybody needs a break sometime. Isn’t there any place you go that instantly puts you in a peaceful state of mind?”

Home, was the first thought in Lana’s head, the Outer Banks of North Carolina. She had grown up on the northernmost tip of Cape Hatteras Island where the people were tough and resilient like the land. Her dad used to say living in the Outer Banks was equivalent to going through the trials of Hercules. Hurricane season in the Outer Banks was oftentimes treacherous. The Atlantic Ocean was a cauldron and battered the area, wiped it clean and afforded Mother Nature another opportunity to start fresh. The storms were like life’s tribulations, if you survived them you grew stronger.

“That would be the Outer Banks of North Carolina where I was born and raised,” Lana told Gia.

“Then go home!” said Gia triumphantly.

“And look like a failure?” Lana said. “No, I’m not going home until I’m firmly back on my feet. That means not until my business is going well again. Or that bastard Jeremy gets caught and pays for what he did.”

“Girlfriend, I think you have too much pride,” Gia said frankly. “If I were in your situation, I’d be home in the bosom of my family getting as much support as I could. My family was poor but we loved each other! Is that it? You don’t think your dad wants you there?”

Lana had to laugh. “Just the opposite,” she told Gia. “If my dad had his way I would never have left Pea Island.”

* * *

“Damn it!” Aaron Braithwaite spat out as he struggled to pull the kayak onto the beach. What had he been thinking taking Bowser fishing with him? He laughed at his ill-conceived decision. The two-year-old yellow Lab had gotten so excited when Aaron had landed a five-pound redfish that he tried to grab the fish in his jaws as Aaron pulled the hook out of the fish’s mouth. Aaron had jerked around, trying to prevent the fish from winding up as dog food and had lost his balance. It was a good thing they weren’t too far from shore that fine July morning. Man, dog and fish wound up in the ocean. Used to being dunked, Aaron had managed to get the kayak righted, and he and Bowser back on board. The fish unfortunately ended up back in its element, the sea.

“Next time, you stay home,” he said to Bowser who looked up at him and wagged his tail. The dog whined plaintively as if he knew his master was berating him and he had something to say in his defense.

Aaron laughed. “So, you think I’m being unjust, do you? Well, you weren’t the one who had to save both our asses.”

Bowser whined again. He went up to Aaron and licked his hand.

“Okay, I know you’re sorry,” Aaron said. “And I admit I should have known a kayak was no place for a dog. Let’s get home and get dry.” The temperature was in the lower sixties and the wind was blowing pretty fiercely. Before long he would be chilled to the bone.

He began walking toward the three-story beach house only 150 feet away. The house had weathered many lashings from Outer Banks storms. Gray with white trim, it had multiple decks and, due to the big porthole-like windows, from a distance looked like a ship that had run aground.

Aaron smiled. When he was a fisherman he never would have been able to afford such a house. But now that he was a mystery writer, and a very successful one, he lived very well. Once again, every time he thought of how happy he was his mind took him to his daughter whose life, by contrast, was not a happy one.

The father in him wanted to demand that she come home. The realist knew that demanding anything of Lana, who was as stubborn as he was, was a sure way of getting her to dig her feet in and refuse to budge.

It was his fault. After his wife, Mariette, had died in an accident when Lana was eight he had raised her to be independent. Afraid that if he should die Lana would be left helpless, he stressed strength and determination within her. He taught her everything he knew about fishing and, a runner himself, he introduced her to the sport and was surprised when she took to it and ran circles around him.

Aside from fishing and running, Lana knew as much about the flora and fauna of Pea Island, parts of which were a nature reserve, as he did. If need be, she could live off the land for the rest of her life. Admittedly he had gone overboard with the survivalist agenda, but he was secure in the notion that his daughter could take care of herself in a pinch. This thing with Jeremy Corday, though, was not a physical challenge. It was something that ate away at her heart and soul. He feared more for her now than ever before in her thirty-two years.

“Mr. Braithwaite?”

Aaron had been so engrossed in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed the tall, broad-shouldered man standing at the foot of the house’s front stairs.

He was wearing a dark suit, white shirt and tie. Aaron glanced down at his shoes, which were highly polished black wingtips. A government man, Aaron deduced. His mind first traveled to his taxes. Nah, he’d never cheated on his taxes. He didn’t have a problem giving the government its fair share of his earnings.

The guy removed his shades and smiled at him. “You are Aaron Braithwaite, aren’t you?”

Aaron chuckled. “Last time I checked, I was.”

Bowser approached the stranger and growled softly. Not an aggressive show of dislike, but more of an inquisitive act. The guy held his hand out to Bowser who sniffed it and, deciding he was okay, licked it. The man gave him a fond ruffle of the fur on the top of his head for his efforts.

“Nice Lab,” said the stranger.

“There’s an old blues song that says ‘Don’t pat my dog and don’t hug my woman,’” Aaron told the guy. “I don’t have a woman around for you to get familiar with, so would you mind introducing yourself?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said the man with an easy smile. “My name is Tennison Isles, and I’m with the FBI.”

“FBI, IRS,” mumbled Aaron. “Had to be one or the other.”

“Excuse me?” Ten said, having not heard Aaron clearly.

“Nothing,” said Aaron. “May I see some ID?”

Ten showed him his badge and picture ID.

After making a careful perusal of the items, Aaron met Ten’s eyes. “What does the FBI want with me?”

“Hopefully, your cooperation,” said Ten.

“Come on up,” Aaron told him.

Fifteen minutes later, Aaron was in dry clothes, Bowser was fairly dry having been rubbed down with a warm towel and the two men were sitting across from each other in the spacious living room drinking strong coffee.

“I’m listening,” Aaron said.

Ten told him what the Bureau wanted to do, with his help. Aaron listened intently. After he’d finished, Ten waited for Aaron’s reaction to his proposal.

To his surprise Aaron said, “My doctor has been trying to get me to go into the hospital for a series of stress tests on my heart. Now is as good a time as any, I guess.”

* * *

The next day, Lana received a phone call from Gladys Easterbrook, her father’s closest neighbor. Gladys and Henry Easterbrook ran a bed-and-breakfast out of their huge beach house. “Aaron’s in the hospital. It’s his heart. That old reprobate told me not to call you, but I think a daughter has the right to know when her daddy’s sick.”

It had been a genius move on Aaron’s part to have Gladys do the phoning. Everyone in Dare County knew Gladys had a talent for melodrama. She was the first person to start crying at every wedding and she hadn’t missed a funeral, whether she knew the person or not, in the last thirty years. Just the sound of her angst-ridden Southern drawl got Lana moving in the direction of her hometown.

Gladys told her that her father was in the hospital in Kitty Hawk, the nearest hospital with full diagnostic services.

Lana had known Gladys Easterbrook nearly all her life and there was no reason to distrust her. However, she tried her father’s cell phone anyway. There was no answer.

This heightened her fear and she immediately called the airport to book a flight home.

Chapter 3

Lana arrived at Norfolk International Airport at noon the following day. Once she departed the plane she looked everywhere for Gladys Easterbrook. She had tried to talk the older woman out of driving all the way to the airport when she could just rent a car and drive directly to the hospital. But Gladys had insisted.

“Mrs. Lana Braithwaite-Corday?” said a masculine voice behind her.

Lana spun around and peered up into the face of a gorgeous giant. He had burnt-caramel skin and eyes that were so dark brown they looked black. High cheekbones, a strong, masculine chin and a clean-shaven jaw added to his appeal. The neatly shorn hair on his well-shaped head was dark brown and its texture was wavy. She had this inane thought that when he was a boy, and his mother had let him grow it out, it must have fallen to his shoulders in thick spirals. He was wearing jeans, athletic shoes and a T-shirt with the University of Virginia emblem on the front. Her first thought after being confronted by all that hotness was, Oh, God, not a reporter way down here! True, he wasn’t wearing a suit or shoving a microphone at her, but he was definitely TV-ready.

She brushed past him, clutching her shoulder bag and a small carry-on bag close to her side, as she headed for the exit. “Bug off. I’ve said all I’m going to say to the media.”

“Your dad sent me to pick you up,” the stranger called. “Miss Gladys’s back is acting up today.”

Lana stopped in her tracks and turned to regard him with a surprised expression on her face. She knew Miss Gladys often had back problems. “Who are you?” she asked tightly.

“Tennison West,” Ten said, holding out a big hand for her to shake. “I’m a filmmaker working on a documentary about your father.”

Lana briefly shook his hand, her eyes still locked with his as if she were trying to discern whether or not she could trust him by the intensity of her gaze.

“You got a driver’s license?” she asked cautiously.

Ten showed her his driver’s license which stated he was Tennison West and he lived in Washington, D.C. The bureau had established a whole new identity for him. They had even set up a website for him replete with samples of the past documentaries he’d produced.

They hadn’t prepared him for Lana, though. Ten felt a bit vulnerable under her scrutiny. He had seen her only in photographs and in videos. He had read about her life in reports given to him by agents he’d assigned to observe her. To be this near, smelling her perfume, a light, enticing floral scent, was entirely different. He could feel the warmth emanating from her denim-clad body and it ignited his senses.

He attempted to turn them off, though. He was here only because he had a hunch that as soon as Lana arrived in the Outer Banks, she would be followed. The only way to find the person potentially trailing her was to be with her as much as possible. He had to be extremely observant, which meant he couldn’t allow emotions to cloud his mind or judgment.

“That’s odd,” Lana commented as she handed him back his driver’s license. “Dad didn’t mention you the last time we talked. How long have you been working with him on this documentary?”

Ten smiled warmly. “Actually, he hasn’t signed on the dotted line yet. I went to see your father, explained what I wanted to do, he then passed out and I took him directly to the emergency room.”

Lana stared up at him, startled. “We’re wasting time. There’s still a two-hour drive to Kitty Hawk!”

She sprinted from the terminal with Ten close behind, shouting, “He told me to tell you not to worry. Wait, don’t you have any luggage?”

Lana didn’t slow down in her headlong rush. “No, no luggage. I was in a hurry. Where’s your car?” She didn’t have time to explain to this stranger that she had a closet full of clothes in her old bedroom at her dad’s house. It saved her from having to pack for her frequent trips home.

Ten got in front, and then reached back for her hand. “If you’ll allow me?”

They jogged hand in hand to the black SUV that was waiting in visitor parking. Ten helped her inside, then went around to the driver’s side and got in.

He turned to her as he started the engine. “There’s no need to panic. I overheard the doctor telling him he has a little arrhythmia. Nothing he can’t live with for a very long time.”

That was news to Lana. Her father didn’t have any health problems that she knew of. He was sixty-two and he still ran practically every day. He’d never smoked and he drank in moderation. The only vice he had was too much shellfish, which could be high in cholesterol. The man loved shrimp and lobster; he could devour steamed soft-shell crabs by the bucketful.

* * *

As he drove out of the parking lot, Ten noticed a short dark-skinned man with thick dreadlocks surreptitiously snap a photo of them with his cell phone. He smiled with satisfaction. Earlier, while he was waiting for Lana to arrive, he had seen the same man rubbernecking when the passengers from Lana’s flight were disembarking. The guy had obviously been waiting for someone and, when his gaze had fallen on Lana, he’d taken a couple of photos of her. Ten had then immediately taken photos of him.

“Did you see that?” Lana asked.

“See what?” Ten casually said.

“That guy just took our picture. Why would he do that?” The picture-snapper was dressed shabbily in dirty jeans, stained white athletic shoes and a faded long-sleeved shirt. Not the basic attire of a reporter. And Lana didn’t believe she was gossip-worthy enough for grungy paparazzi to have any interest in her. Besides, wouldn’t they use professional-quality cameras instead of a cell-phone camera?

“Have you ever seen him before?” Ten wanted to know. He watched as the guy got into a late-model Toyota Corolla. He made a mental note of the car’s tag number.

“No,” Lana responded tiredly.

* * *

“Are you a celebrity or something?” she asked, looking sideways at him.

Ten laughed. “In no way, shape or form,” he said. “I work behind the camera. Are you?”

Lana gave him a suspicious look. If he’d done his homework on her father before approaching him about doing a documentary on him, wouldn’t he have found out that Aaron Braithwaite’s only child was married to one of the most notorious frauds of the century? Or maybe she was giving Jeremy too much credit. Yes, he was public enemy number one in San Francisco but how many people had ever heard of him on a global scale?

“I would have to say no to that,” she said dryly.

“Maybe he just likes taking photos of beautiful women,” Ten said, smiling at her.

Lana laughed. “Now you’re being ridiculous.”

“Beautiful and modest, too,” Ten said admiringly.

“Just keep your eyes on the road, buster,” Lana jokingly told him. But his compliment had relaxed her and made her laugh. God knew she could use a good laugh.

“Yes, ma’am,” said Ten good-naturedly, focusing on his driving.

The traffic from the airport was congested but once they got on the interstate, driving was a cinch. They made small talk all the way to Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, where Aaron had been admitted into the hospital.

“Nice little town,” Ten said. “There’s no traffic to speak of.”

“Your first time here?” asked Lana, peering at him with a small smile on her lips.

“Your dad and I have had many conversations over the phone but this is my first visit to the Outer Banks,” Ten told her.

“Oh, then I should at least give you a little background on Kitty Hawk,” Lana offered pleasantly. “The town’s best known for being the site of the Wright brothers’ test ground for their first controlled airplane flights. Although that was misinformation because the actual site’s about four miles from Kitty Hawk in sand dunes the locals refer to as Kill Devil Hills. Kitty Hawk today is a pleasant town with a population of about 3300 residents. It gets its fair share of visitors, though, especially in the warmer months. The beaches here are very pristine.”

“You could probably say that about all of the beaches in the Outer Banks,” Ten ventured. “This area looks like it’s washed clean by Mother Nature on a regular basis.”

Lana laughed softly. “That’s a nice way to put it. A lot of people out here have very strong feelings about keeping the Outer Banks as close to the way nature made it as possible. So when developers start making noise about building huge resorts to attract more tourists, and so forth, you can bet you’re going to get some opposition. Then, too, nature has a way of keeping the Outer Banks pure. We build roads, nature floods them. We build bridges and the ocean erodes them. Sometimes it can be a hard life, but like Dad says, you’ve got to be tough to be an Outer Banker.”

Ten noted the fond tone in her voice. How her smile never wavered as she talked of her beloved home. If she loved it so much, what had kept her away for so long?

Why had it taken scheming from the FBI and her father to get her back here?

“Your father said you live in San Francisco,” he said, instead of asking her what he really wanted to ask her.

“Yeah, my hus... I mean, I’ve lived there for about a decade now.” She suddenly focused on something outside of the window.

They rode in silence. Ten let the husband comment slip. It wasn’t his place to pry any further into her private life than he had to in order to get the job done. He felt acutely sympathetic toward her. Now that he’d met her, he believed more than ever that she had not been privy to Jeremy Corday’s illegal business dealings.

Once they were in the city of Kitty Hawk, the trip through town and out to North Croatan Highway where Albemarle Health’s Regional Medical Center was located took only fifteen minutes. Ten pulled up to the entrance.

“Go on in,” he said. “I’ll find a parking space and meet you inside.”

She looked at him with those beautiful brown eyes and he fairly melted. “Thank you, Mr. West, but if you have someplace else to be I can get home from here.”

“On the contrary, Mrs. Corday,” he told her calmly, “it would be my pleasure to wait and drive you home. I promised your father I’d look after you and I always keep my promises.”

Lana didn’t know what to say to that. A helpful man who always kept his promises?

She didn’t have time to argue the point with him. Her father needed her.

“Okay then,” she relented with a smile. She got out, closed the door and hurried inside. Ten watched her for a moment as she gracefully walked toward the steel-framed glass wall that encased the automatic doors. His heart was still thudding from the impact of her smile.

He blew air between full lips as he drove away to locate a parking spot. “Lord, this is not going to be an easy assignment.”

* * *

“Keep running,” Dr. Sanjay Khan said to Aaron, his lilting voice kind. “Just don’t overdo it. At your age a couple of miles a day is enough. I’m not even going to prescribe any medication because your arrhythmia doesn’t call for it. I do want you on the aspirin regimen and you need to watch your cholesterol more closely.”

Aaron, lying in bed, one arm behind his head as he sat propped up on pillows, laughed softly. “Doc, you’re not going to take my butter away, are you? What am I going to dip my lobster in?”

Dr. Khan laughed, too. “Butter and lobster, no wonder your cholesterol’s high. I want you on olive oil and good omega-3 seafood like salmon.”

“I hate the taste of both,” Aaron complained.

“You’ll just have to get used to them,” Lana spoke up as she entered the room.

She walked straight over to her father, and kissed him on the cheek, then greeted Dr. Khan with a warm smile and a hearty hello.

Dr. Khan, in his late forties, was about her height and looked fit in his white physician’s coat with a white shirt and black tie underneath, black slacks and sturdy black oxfords. His dark liquid eyes lit up at her hello. “You must be Lana,” he said. “Your father has been expecting you.”

“Yes,” said Lana, smiling warmly. She lovingly gazed at Aaron. “How is he, Doctor?”

Aaron started to say something, and Lana shushed him. He fell quiet, his face a mass of grins. He was so delighted to have her home, he didn’t care that she was being bossy, as usual.

Dr. Khan patiently went over Aaron’s condition with Lana. She asked questions and he answered them to her satisfaction. When she felt there was no more to learn on the subject, she thanked Dr. Khan who told them he had to go but he would be back in the morning at which time he would let Aaron know if he could go home. The doctor advised that there were still test results that hadn’t come in yet.

Alone with her father, Lana fell on him and hugged him tightly. Then she rose and peered into his beloved face, a face that was a pleasant reminder of their shared genetics. He also had a dash of freckles across the bridge of his nose. And if not for his sixty-two years his hair would have been the same red-brown. Today, it was pure white. His skin was a deep golden-brown due to the sun, wind and salt air that he lived in every day. She loved the crinkles around his brown eyes and the bushy white eyebrows above them.

“I’ve missed you,” she said. Tears came to her eyes in spite of her attempt to keep them at bay.

Aaron squeezed her hand. “I’m fine, sweetheart. You know nothing gets me down for long.”

“I do,” she said, trying to sound upbeat. “But the older I get the more I realize that you’re not getting any younger, either. That’s a scary thought. What would I do if anything ever happened to you? It’s not like I have a huge family to fall back on.”

Her mother, Mariette, had a sister, Dorothy—Aunt Dottie to Lana—who lived in Florida. However her father was the last of the Braithwaites in North Carolina. There were some distant cousins in Massachusetts whom he never heard from. He and Mariette had wanted to have more children but they’d only been blessed with Lana.

Lana wanted to have children with Jeremy but he had convinced her to wait a few more years. He said he wanted to enjoy their time as a couple for the first five years of their marriage. Then he said they could have a child or two. If given the choice of having Jeremy’s child with her now or him, Lana would have chosen the child. Just because Jeremy had proven unreliable and less than honest didn’t mean his child would have been tainted. The child would have been loved by her beyond measure.

“You’re only thirty-two. There’s still time to have children and make me a granddaddy,” Aaron reminded her, his eyes twinkling with merriment.

Lana laughed. “In case you haven’t heard, my husband’s a fugitive and I’m in the process of divorcing him.”

“A wise decision, as I told you over the phone,” her father said. He patted the side of the bed and Lana sat down. He hugged her close. “Lana, there’s only one way to get on with your life when something as devastating as what happened to you occurs. You have to keep moving forward. You had plans before you met Jeremy. Some of them you put on hold for him. Becoming a mother was one of them. Jeremy’s not in the picture anymore. You have the reins. Don’t allow his behavior to define the rest of your life. We can’t control other people’s behavior. All we can do is control how we react to it.”

“And even that’s hard to do,” Lana said.

“Have you ever noticed how the important things in life are always difficult to accomplish? That’s because God wants you to recognize the blessings in life when you’re presented with them, and appreciate them.”

Lana looked at her father with a deadpan expression. “Are you saying my experience has been a blessing?”

“Now you know what kind of man you married. It would have been worse if you had been with him twenty years instead of five and all of this happened,” Aaron said reasonably.

“It stings pretty badly right now,” Lana asserted.

“Of course it does, but eventually they will find him, and you’ll be able to face him and tell him to go to hell and you’ll live through it. You’re tougher than you think.”

Lana knew her father was right. After she had admitted to herself that Jeremy had faked his death and run away, she had spent weeks beating up on herself for being so gullible and allowing herself to love a man like him. Now, if she ever saw him again she believed she would stomp on him. She was that angry with him.

She smiled at her dad. “What about your health and you being in the hospital for the first time in your life. Is that a blessing?”

Aaron’s smile grew wider. “It got you home, didn’t it?”

Lana rolled her eyes. “You never quit.”

“Never, baby girl.”

Lana stood up. She looked around the room. Flowers were on every available surface. “Your women?” she joked, referring to the number of bouquets.

“Well, you know...” he said with no modesty whatsoever. “What can I say? There are more women than men in our age group. Somebody has to take up the slack.”

Lana went to read a few of the cards attached to the bouquets. Sure enough, they were from females. Some names she recognized, some she didn’t. One in particular was of interest to her. It was her high school English teacher, Miss Ellen Newman.

“Miss Newman, Daddy? You’re seeing Miss Newman?” She couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice.

“She’s an attractive woman,” Aaron said. “And we share certain interests.” He raised his eyebrows in a lascivious manner, which made Lana guffaw.

“I don’t want to hear anything about Miss Newman’s certain interests,” Lana hurriedly told him.

“I was just going to say she likes going fishing, too,” Aaron said innocently.

“I’ll bet,” Lana said dryly. She turned to face him again after reading the message on another card: Get well soon, Tiger! It had been signed by another female admirer whose name she didn’t recognize.

“Maybe giving up butter and lobster aren’t the only things you should think about letting go,” she said with a laugh.

“I’d give up the shellfish before I gave up the ladies,” vowed Aaron through a smile.

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