“You’re divorced…because of your brother?”

Sarah stared at him as she asked the question.

“Yeah.” Luke’s answer was soft. Then he added, “But for the record, it’s not as tabloid as it sounds. She was engaged to Matt first. He went missing on a classified army assignment and they told us he was dead. We got married, Erin and Jen were born. Then after five years he came back.”

“Five years!”

“He was a POW the whole time. Kristin hadn’t ever stopped loving him, and…and it was tearing her apart, being with me when he was around. That’s the whole story.”

“You’re very honorable to set her free.”

“A regular white knight.”

“Do your daughters live with you?”

Luke ran out of brittle comments. “Not full-time. We’ve been sharing custody since I moved out a year ago. But now that they’re married…” Luke couldn’t bear to think about the changes in his life.

How could one translate anguish into words?

Dear Reader,

I remember being awakened at midnight, when I was six or seven years old, so my brother and I could climb into the back of our big station wagon and fall asleep again while my father drove straight through the night, heading east.

Sometime the next afternoon, we would park on the deck of a ferryboat that took us to the isolated Outer Banks of North Carolina. We camped just behind the dunes in a canvas tent and cooked on a gas Coleman stove. Showers were optional—we spent most of the day in the ocean. Cape Hatteras Island became a dear friend we looked forward to visiting each summer. I still find my greatest sense of peace and freedom when I can sit and watch the sea.

So I’ve written a book set at the beach. Police officer Luke Brennan and photographer Sarah Randolph have lost the people they care about, the people who cared for them. The joining of these two solitary souls requires courage, determination and, of course, deep and abiding love. I hope you enjoy your time with Luke and Sarah as much as I have. They are very special people.

As are all the Superromance readers. Please feel free to write me at: P.O. Box 17195, Fayetteville, NC 28314. Thanks for reading!

All the best,

Lynnette Kent

Luke’s Daughters

Lynnette Kent

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For my mom,

who showed me the wonders of the beach,

the glory of the mountains,

and all I know of love.

CONTENTS

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

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

SARAH HEARD his voice first.

Not the words, not even the sense of what he was saying, just a warm, smooth rumble counterpointed against the never-ending crash of the waves. The timbre of that voice resonated inside her, making her push back her hat and open her eyes.

She couldn’t have designed such a picture in a thousand years. The owner of the voice wore a starched white shirt, a black bow tie and vest, and the satin-seamed trousers of formal dress, rolled halfway up his calves. He’d left his sleeves buttoned; they shivered crisply over his arms in the afternoon wind blowing off the ocean.

Just as her eyes focused clearly, he tugged the band out of his shoulder-length hair, letting it blow free with that same wind. Putting up a hand, he pulled the straight, black strands out of his face and laughed as he glanced down at his companions.

Creatures from a fairy tale they were, two princesses in rose-and-green flowered gowns, with puffed sleeves, high necks and long, full skirts. Sunlight glinted on their blond heads, one a bit darker than the other, both braided neatly from crown to nape. As they looked up at the man, Sarah could see flowers woven into those braids…baby’s breath and pink sweetheart roses.

Automatically, she reached for her camera.

She captured the gentleness with which the man held each little girl’s hand to help her down the sandy bank, the care the children took to hold up their skirts as they crossed the shallow inlet separating them from Sarah. The setting sun and the contrast of such formal clothes against a backdrop of sea and sky and sand provided near perfect composition.

As the trio came close, Sarah relaxed into her chair and let the camera rest in her lap—their awareness of what she was doing would spoil the effect. She stared back the way they’d come, across the rocks and the deep green grass that separated the public beach from the exclusive Sandspur Country Club. Light flashed behind the club’s tinted windows, silhouetting the impression of a crowd.

Now she understood—they’d been to a grown-up party of some kind. The man must have taken pity on two bored little girls and brought them out across the manicured grass to look at the ocean.

But looking obviously hadn’t been enough, not for the girls and not for him. With just a little pleading on their part, he’d agreed to an adventure no anxious mother would ever allow—a walk on the beach in all that finery. Sarah could just discern the white-and-black splotches of their socks and shoes, abandoned at the brink of the lawn.

When her camera lens found them again at the edge of the ocean, the girls were bent over a fisherman’s bucket, inspecting his bait and his catch. But their companion stood straight and tall, staring north along the shoreline. His hair blew back, leaving his profile stark against the sky. Sarah snapped the picture, thanking all the saints that she’d brought the zoom lens—and thinking that, for a party guest, he didn’t look much like he was celebrating.

After a few minutes, he turned and spoke to the girls. The children pranced and danced across the beach, heading back toward the club. But the man lagged behind, head down, hands in his pockets, dragging his bare feet in the sand as if reluctant to return.

Reluctant or not, he was leaving. Sarah jammed the camera into her bag, dredged up a couple of business cards and a pen, then struggled out of the low sand chair to her feet. By the time she clambered up the opposite bank of the inlet, the girls had nearly reached the rocks. But the man had just come level with Sarah.

“Excuse me,” she called.

He stopped and looked over, his dark, straight brows lifted in question.

Up close, he was bigger than she’d realized, taller. Not thick or brawny. Just…strong. “My name is Sarah Randolph.” She extended a card. “I’m a photographer.”

“That’s…nice.” He stared, expectantly.

Suddenly she felt intrusive. She gathered up the remnants of her professional nerve. “You must know—the three of you made an exceptional picture on the beach in your formal clothes.”

“I didn’t think about it,” he said. The hint of a drawl flavored his voice, like a ribbon of caramel through milk chocolate.

“I did.” Sarah gathered her thoughts. “And I took pictures.”

His gray gaze darkened. “And you want me to pay you for them? Sorry.” He lengthened his stride to catch up with the girls. “Not interested.”

“No!” She jogged after him, reaching for his arm to slow him down. His muscles felt like carved driftwood. “No, I don’t want you to pay me.”

He stopped and looked over his shoulder. “What do you want, then? I need to get them back inside.”

Something in his face made her let go of him. Quickly. “Are they your daughters?”

His mouth tightened. “Yeah. They are.”

She tried a smile. “You see, I might want to use the pictures in a…in a professional capacity. And for that, I need a release.”

He started to shake his head. “I don’t think—”

“No, really, all it says is that you agree to allow the photographs to be used for publication. I may never use them, they might not develop. But if they do, I’d be glad to give you copies, in exchange for the release. Please?”

For a long moment he watched the girls, now involved in investigating a jagged black rock. Finally, he sighed. “I’d have to see them first. Otherwise, I’m not agreeing to anything.”

“Sure. No problem.” Sarah held out the extra card and the pen. “Just write down your address and I’ll bring them over as soon as I can. Probably in a day or so.”

His face was stern as he took the card and wrote quickly across the blank side. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Randolph.” He gave back the card.

Before she could answer, or even read his name, he strode across the sand to his daughters and swept them before him, over the rocks, up the bank, and back into the club.

COMING IN from the beach, Luke stopped on the threshold of the country club dining room. The girls ran toward the crowd inside. Given a choice, he wouldn’t have followed. But then, nothing about today was his choice.

Or maybe everything was. Maybe that was his problem—he’d made the decision and he hated living with the consequences.

When Erin and Jennifer found their mother at the center of the swirl of people, she turned immediately to give them her full attention. No one could say Kristin wasn’t a great mom—the girls came first, every time. He loved that about her.

And she made a beautiful bride, in an ivory dress with a lace top and a bell-shaped skirt, holding orchids in the curve of her arm. Under a lace veil, her rich blond hair shone like sunlight. Laughing at something Erin said, she tucked a stray curl behind Jen’s ear, then glanced up at the new husband who stood by her side. The meeting of their eyes came straight out of an old-fashioned romance. The kiss they’d shared at the wedding deserved fireworks, like the end of a fairy tale.

Luke took a deep breath and pivoted away from the reception. He wasn’t going to stay. He’d done his part, kept up appearances for the sake of the girls and his parents’ friends. No one would miss him, anyway—

“Luke Brennan! What happened to your hair?”

He turned to face his mother, resisting the urge to neaten up. “The girls and I went outside for a walk. It’s windy.”

Elena Brennan raised aristocratic eyebrows. “You took them out on the beach? In those dresses?”

“We were careful. We left our shoes—”

“Honestly, I don’t know how you ever came to be so irresponsible!” Her cultured Southern accent always deepened when she got upset. “The photographer is still taking pictures, for heaven’s sake. Just once I’d like to see you think ahead…” She pivoted and stalked toward the girls with her long-legged grace, a contemporary Southern belle in blue silk, severely ticked off.

“Bad move, son.” His father stepped up on Luke’s other side. “Worse still to tell her what you’d done.”

Luke jammed his fists in his pockets. “I didn’t do anything. The girls were going crazy trying to act like porcelain dolls. I just let them have a little fun.”

“You know how important this wedding is to your mother.”

Luke dragged his thoughts back from freedom of the beach…and the sweet sympathy in a strange woman’s golden eyes. “Yeah, I know.”

His mom hadn’t gotten a chance to plan his wedding—the bride and groom had eloped in the middle of the night, coming back with the vows taken and a baby on the way. That was not how things happened in the prestigious Charleston social circles where Elena Calhoun Brennan had grown up.

“We didn’t do anything wrong,” Luke insisted. Now or then.

His dad’s hand fell on his shoulder and drew him farther into the room. “Well, what’s done is done. Tame that damn hair, put your coat on, then come get a glass of champagne so you can celebrate with the rest of us.” Thirty years in the Army turned every request into an order.

Luke looked at the man beside him. They were the same height—six-two—but Colonel William Brennan’s military bearing always made him seem taller.

Beyond his father, he caught sight of Kristin, finishing a slow waltz with her new husband. They ended with a kiss. He took a deep breath. “No, thanks.”

The Colonel’s gray eyes went steel-cold. “Listen, son, I expect you to cooperate—”

Luke jerked out from under his dad’s hand. “How much more cooperative can I get? I let him take them away. I stepped aside and gave him my whole life. I even played the part you wrote for me today.”

He lowered his voice, stepping close enough to guarantee his words would stay between them. “But if you think I’m happy about it, you’re crazy. And if you think I’m going to come in there and toast this marriage—give them my blessing, for God’s sake!—you’re more than crazy. You’re sadistic.”

“Luke—” Strong fingers gripped his elbow as cheers from the other end of the room drew his attention. Dread tightened his throat, but Luke looked over.

Kristin stood balanced on one slender leg, her skirt lifted to reveal the other foot in its high-heeled slipper resting on a chair seat. Her groom, wearing Army dress blues, knelt in front of her. As she laughed, he slipped a lacy blue-and-white garter down her thigh and over her smooth calf. Applause broke out as he stood and flourished the scrap of fabric.

“All single men to the front, now!” He grinned widely. “This lady’s mine and I’m not sharing, but if you catch her garter, you’re guaranteed to find your own!”

As he looked around the room, the groom’s gaze came to rest on Luke. Even from a distance, the antagonism in his face was clear to see. The crowd chuckled, murmured, and finally ebbed into silence.

Luke broke away from that stare and glanced at his father. “There is a limit to brotherly sacrifice.” He turned on his heel, heading toward the club exit. “Your other son,” he said over his shoulder, “just crossed the boundary line.”

Then, as if chased by demons, he ran for his life.

ERIN COULD HARDLY stand still long enough to let her grandmother unbutton the back of her hot, scratchy dress. “Are you done yet, Grandmom?”

“I’ll never be done if you don’t stand still, young lady.” Grandmother Brennan was pretty strict. You didn’t go to her house and put your feet in the chairs or eat with your elbows on the table—not if you were almost seven years old. Babies who were only four—like Jenny—could still get away with just about anything.

Such as whining when she didn’t want to change clothes. “I want this dress,” she told Grandma Jennings. “I want to see Mickey Mouse like this!”

“Well, you can’t.” Erin turned toward Jenny, and was pushed back in place by a firm pair of hands. “We’re goin’ on a plane, Jenny. You can’t wear that dress on a airplane.”

Jenny started to cry. “I want Mommy!”

Erin felt the last button on her dress give way. “Oh, boy.” She pulled away, dragged the dress over her head and let it drop. “That feels so good!” She whirled in the middle of the room, her arms spread out like wings. “I hate dresses!”

Grandmother Brennan picked up the stupid pink-and-green dress and put it on a hanger. “Get your shorts on, Erin, dear. You’ll be leaving soon.”

“Disney World!” Erin ran to the chair with her clothes and stepped into her favorite blue shorts. The itchy flowers in her hair got caught in her T-shirt, so she pulled them out. That pulled out some of the braid, too, which was okay, because braids hurt. She tugged the rest of her hair free. “Where are my shoes?”

“Right here.” Her grandmother held up a pair of white sandals with pink flowers on top.

“Those aren’t mine. I want my red sneakers that Daddy bought me.”

Grandmother Brennan brought over the yucky shoes. “These will look better with your outfit, sweetheart.”

Erin crossed her arms. “I…want…my…red…shoes.” She wasn’t gonna cry, like Jenny. But she wasn’t going anywhere in those stupid white sandals.

The door of the room opened, and Mommy came in. Jenny jerked away from Grandma Jennings. But Erin reached their mother first. “Tell her I don’t have to wear those shoes, Mommy. I want to wear my red ones!”

Jenny arrived. “I wanna wear my dress for Mickey Mouse!”

Mommy got down on her knees. She put one arm around Erin and one around Jenny. “Erin, sweetie, your red shoes are in the suitcase under the window.”

Erin flew to the bag and found her shoes right on top of all her other clothes. She sat down and started to pull one on.

“Socks first,” her mother said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Erin groaned. She put on the socks, then the shoes, and tied the laces herself. Daddy had taught her to tie her own shoes over spring break from school.

With Mommy to help, getting dressed and ready to go was easy. Jenny put on the plain yellow dress she was supposed to wear and let Mommy brush her hair. In just a couple of minutes they were all done.

Mommy’s new husband waited for them in the hallway. “All set for Disney World?” Jenny put her thumb in her mouth and hid her face in Mommy’s neck. He looked at Erin. “What do you say? Ready to go?”

Erin looked back at him. He’d told her to call him Matt. Mommy said she thought Daddy Matt would be better, since he was a part of their family now. Because Mommy asked, Erin tried to remember. But he didn’t feel like much of a daddy to her.

He was tall, and kinda big—bigger than Daddy, even if they were brothers. And he was more like Grandmother Brennan than Daddy. Daddy played games. He laughed and joked and called her funny names.

Most of the time, Daddy Matt talked about rules.

Suddenly, Erin didn’t know if she was ready for Disney World. “Mommy, where’s Daddy?”

“He’s right here, love.” She looked surprised.

“No. I mean my Daddy. I need to tell him something.”

Erin saw Mommy look at Daddy Matt. Then Daddy Matt came over and squatted beside her. “He had to go to…work, Erin.” Daddy Matt had blue eyes. Even when he smiled, his eyes stayed serious. “He said to tell you to have a great time in Florida. He’ll be thinking about you, and he’ll see you when you get back. Okay?”

When you were almost seven, you could usually tell what you could get out of and what you couldn’t. Erin knew she wasn’t going to see her dad again before they left. She sighed and nodded. “Let’s go.”

Daddy Matt stood up and took her hand. Erin went with him, with Mommy on her other side. Outside the front door, all the people who had come to the wedding were waiting. They started cheering and throwing bird seed from the little packets Erin had helped tie. She and Mommy and Daddy Matt ran in between the lines of people to the van waiting by the curb. Erin helped Jenny into her car seat and buckled her own seat belt the way Daddy had taught her.

Then, laughing and waving, Mommy and Daddy Matt shut their doors. They pulled away from all the people, and the car got quiet. “Next stop,” Daddy Matt declared, “is Disney World!”

Jenny yawned and closed her eyes. Erin looked out the window without answering, wondering why she didn’t feel so excited anymore.

SARAH HELD her breath as the picture developed, like a ghost materializing out of the mist. She hadn’t run a proof sheet this time. She wanted to see each print full-size right away.

There. More than twenty-four hours later, she was struck yet again by the sheer beauty of Luke Brennan’s face, the grace of his stance. From a professional—and personal—perspective, he made a truly breathtaking picture.

And the little girls were every bit as lovely as she remembered, as photogenic as she’d hoped. The energy of those children endowed each shot with an intense impression of…of…life.

“Pretty,” a voice commented behind her.

Sarah jumped, then swore. “You scared me!” She retrieved the tongs she’d dropped. “Why didn’t you knock, Chuck? You could have ruined everything.”

Her business partner—they’d inherited joint ownership of the photography shop where she developed her work—rolled his eyes. “The door was already open, so I figured it was safe. You’ve been in here for hours.”

He stepped past her and stared at the pictures on the drying table, arms crossed over his stomach, the fingers of one hand tapping his elbow. “Not your usual style, but pretty. Are you planning a calendar?” She could hear the sneering tone in his voice.

Sarah put the tongs down before she used them as a weapon. Chuck belittled her work whenever he got the chance. Why get upset about it now? “No. Those are some shots I took yesterday, that’s all.” She drew a deep breath. “What time is it?”

“After seven. I’ve closed the shop. Are you ready to leave?”

She’d printed the pictures in eight-by-tens. Some of them might look good even larger. “I think I’ll stay and work some more. Go ahead and lock up. I’ve got a key.”

“I know.” He smiled thinly. “You’re okay to stay here alone after dark? This part of town’s pretty much deserted on Sunday night.”

Sarah put confidence into her voice. “I’ll be fine.”

Chuck lifted a thin, pale eyebrow in doubt, but turned without a word and left the darkroom. Shortly afterward, while she was still mixing developer, she heard the back door shut and the roar of his Cadillac’s engine. She couldn’t deny the relief of finally being alone.

As she printed the larger versions of the beach pictures, though, she did ask herself exactly what she would do with them. The weekly news magazine she worked for, Events, didn’t publish “pretty” photos. Her New York editor wanted grit—the grittier, the better. She’d given him just that for six years now, first in Africa, more recently in Eastern Europe and Afghanistan.

They’d been a damned good team, she and James Daley, even after she ended their brief engagement. Despite the pain caused by James’s unfaithfulness, Sarah had stayed on the job. Anger and hurt feelings had, with time, given way to mutual respect; together they’d earned a notable reputation for delivering the story with his spare reporting and her uncompromising pictures.

Then, between one heartbeat and the next, James was gone. A witness to the shooting—she stood only a few steps behind him as he fell—Sarah remained at the scene and finished the story for James…for them both. She’d managed to work through the memory of his sightless eyes, the smell of blood and munitions in the air, the one ragged cry he’d given before dying.

Until that last morning, by a pit in a field outside Kabul, a vast cavern filled with the bodies of women and girls, when the shaking had gotten so bad she couldn’t hold the camera steady, and there wasn’t any way to make it stop. She’d seen herself falling into that grave. She could still hear the voices of the dead—James’s among them—crying all around her, waiting for her…

On a deep, shuddering breath, Sarah jerked her mind back to the present. This was not a war-raped field in Central Asia. This was Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, USA, where the sun sank gently behind the dunes, shedding an amber light over little girls dancing on the beach in their best clothes.

Eyes closed, she focused on that peaceful scene, recalling each lovely detail. Gradually, her heartbeat slowed, the shakes went away.

See, she was getting better. Six months of therapy had restored her ability to cope, to function. She’d been tired when she got back to the States…well, okay, exhausted. Yet she’d had trouble sleeping. The dreams had been even worse than her memories.

Now, though, she was rested. Soon, she’d be well enough to resume her job. She’d worked hard to get a permanent assignment with Events and she would cover whatever story they asked for.

That she’d been shooting pictures yesterday testified to her recovery. Not since…then…had her camera come to hand so easily, so smoothly. She could thank Luke Brennan for that. Luke Brennan and his precious little girls.

Sarah cleaned up the darkroom, glancing often at the pictures she’d developed tonight. He wouldn’t be easy to forget. His laugh was warm, his grin contagious, but the shadows in his eyes spoke of deep trouble. What could have brought such pain to his face?

She’d never know. And even if she found out, she was the last person who could help him. Daily life was as much of a challenge as she could manage these days. Until she could take charge of her own life again, she couldn’t possibly solve anyone else’s problems.

After sweeping up, she made sure Luke Brennan and his daughters had dried thoroughly, then closed them into a folder inside her portfolio. Tomorrow she’d get the release and send the shots to her agent. If they found a place to sell, good. If not, Sarah congratulated herself on at least taking pictures again. Six months was a long…vacation.

She tidied the kitchen area in the back of the shop, washed her cup and Chuck’s and set the coffee to brew in the morning, then picked up the portfolio and her purse and left by the rear door.

The June night folded around her, not yet humid enough to cling. Screams of tourists riding the roller coasters on the boardwalk a few blocks away speared the darkness. Floodlights crisscrossed the sky from all directions—the beach attractions to the east and the giant performance halls to the west. Myrtle Beach prided itself on giving great value for an entertainment buck.

Thinking about the sleepy little town she’d visited during high school summers, Sarah whistled lightly as she walked toward her Jeep. Thanks to the tourist boom, the town had mushroomed in the last fifteen years, bringing in big-city problems without always providing the means to deal with them. Still, those little girls on the beach had been safe and happy—

Footsteps sounded behind her, running. Keys in hand, Sarah started to turn, but was too late even to scream. A man slammed into her back, taking her to her knees. Arching her body, she tried to buck, but he was too heavy. His breathing was a ragged gasp in her ear as he grabbed her shoulders and pushed her forward. She braced her arms, palms sliding against the gravel; he reached over, jerked her hands up, and shoved her down hard. Her face hit the ground, tore, burned.

She tried to twist underneath him, but his knees held her shoulders down as he sat on her back. Every other pain faded as he closed his hands around her neck and squeezed. And squeezed. Sarah stabbed at him with a key—he jerked the ring out of her fingers. She kicked with her heels, but his grip only tightened on her throat.

Weakening, she gasped, pleaded with no sound, fought the weight on her ribs and spine until a black fog clouded her vision.

And then she stopped fighting.

CHAPTER TWO

LONG PAST TIRED of his own company and fed up with self-pity, Luke checked in at the precinct station late on Sunday night.

“You’re the only cop I know who has hair like that.” Sergeant Baylor clapped him on the shoulder as they passed in the squad room. “Brennan, you’re a disgrace to the uniform.”

“The hair is the uniform, Sarge.” He pulled up a grin, poured a cup of coffee he didn’t need and propped a hip on the corner of a nearby desk. “Anything going on tonight?”

Nick Rushe, Luke’s partner and frequent handball opponent, leaned back in his chair. “Just the usual—drunks and rowdies, a lost kid at the boardwalk. Oh, and a mugging.”

“Yeah?”

“Not four blocks from here. Woman about to get into her car, guy knocks her down, takes her purse and what she was carrying. Beat her up pretty bad. Jordan’s taking the report.”

Luke glanced over at Hank Jordan’s desk. A woman huddled in the chair on the aisle, eyes downcast, her face almost completely hidden by the cloth she held to her cheek.

But he recognized that curling, golden-brown hair. The part of her face he could see seemed familiar. And when she looked up to answer a question, he recognized the long-lashed, hazel gaze. This was the woman on the beach yesterday afternoon, the one taking pictures. Sarah…Sarah…something.

He was standing over her before he realized he’d moved. “Are you okay?”

She lifted her head to gaze at him, eyes dark with fright and pain. Her lips parted, but she didn’t make a sound. When he put a hand over the one she held to her face, she flinched.

Luke squatted to look up at her. “Sarah? Sarah, it’s okay. I won’t hurt you. Can I see your face?”

She stared at him for a long time, and he thought she would refuse. Then her shoulders relaxed a fraction. She nodded, wincing, and allowed him to lift the cloth gently out of her hand.

He pulled in air through his teeth to avoid swearing. Between bruises and swelling and scrapes, the left side of her face was a mess. Luke let her put the cloth back against her skin. Her white T-shirt was torn and stained with dirt and blood, her knees nearly as battered as her cheek. “Have you seen a doctor?”

“She just walked in, if you can believe it.” Hank shook his head. “Looked like death then, so she’s gettin’ better.”

Jordan was a good cop, if a little too blunt. Luke bit back a reprimand. “Are you about finished here?”

“Yeah. I think she’s given me everything she can—which ain’t a hell of a lot. No motive, only one real contact in town, and no description. Big help.”

“We’ll work on it.” Luke stood up to his full height. “I’m going to take you to the hospital, Sarah, get a doctor to check you out.”

Again she shook her head, panic replacing pain in her eyes. “I don’t think—” she whispered.

“You’re safe with me.” He pulled his ID from his back pocket and opened it in front of her. “I should have explained—I’m a cop. My partner can go with us, if you’d feel better about it.” He nodded back toward Nick, who gave them a salute.

She seemed to wilt. “No. That’s okay.” When he put his hand under her elbow she stood and took a shaky step, then stopped. “Thank you,” she said to Hank, still in that hushed voice.

Flushing, Jordan waved her away. “No problem. You take care. We’ll get back to you if…when…we find something.”

Luke opened doors and warded off obstacles as they worked their way slowly through the station. He could tell the effort it cost Sarah to make the trip by the sigh she gave as she relaxed onto the seat of his truck. Without asking, he pulled the seat belt over her and clicked the latch shut.

She gave him a half smile as he got behind the wheel. “Thanks. I appreciate your help.”

The angle of her head and the light from the parking lot revealed what he hadn’t seen before—ugly maroon finger marks on her throat.

He couldn’t stifle a curse. “We’ll be there in a few minutes,” he said. Driving carefully, but fast, he flipped on the emergency flashers and accelerated into highway traffic.

A couple of hours later, the ER doctor came to find him. “No broken bones, no major damage. Abrasions, contusions, a couple of lacerations. She’ll be sore for a while.”

“He tried to strangle her.”

“Yes.” The doctor shook her head in disgust. “The swelling will keep her voice out of commission for a few days. Don’t let her talk too much.”

“Can you tell me anything else about the beating? Anything specific?”

“Besides the fact that the guy who hit her is a bastard?”

“Besides that.”

The doctor cocked an eyebrow. “She’s lucky he didn’t kill her.”

Luke found Sarah sitting on a cot in a cubicle toward the back of the emergency room, with her hands folded in her lap and bandages on the worst of her scrapes.

“Hi,” she whispered. Her wide eyes were less focused than before, but the pain and panic in them had receded.

“You’re not supposed to talk. Let’s get you out of here.” He helped her slide off the table, then braced her with his hands under her elbows as her knees buckled.

She gasped and caught at his arms. “They…they gave me a pill. I guess I’m not too steady.”

“No problem.” Luke put an arm around her waist. “I’ll take you home and make sure you’re settled.”

Sarah tried to pull away, though she didn’t make much progress. “I can get a cab. Really.”

“I don’t think so.” She looked prepared to argue, but Luke simply eased her toward the doors. “You don’t want to wait here another hour or two, do you? This isn’t New York—cabs don’t circulate in Myrtle Beach in the middle of the night.” Finally convinced, she leaned wearily against him. They stepped through the automatic doors into the cool summer dark.

“All we need now is—” He thought a second and stopped.

“My keys.” She closed her eyes. “But—”

“He took them.” Her sigh confirmed his guess. “Do you have any friends in town? Somebody to stay with?”

“No.” She seemed to lean more heavily against him at the word. Luke walked her to the truck.

“And no credit cards for a hotel room?” he asked, as he buckled her in again.

“Not anymore.”

He shut the passenger door and rounded the truck bed, thinking hard. By the time he sat down, the decision was made. “Okay. I’m going to take you to my place for the night. We’ll get the rest sorted out in the morning.”

She tried to sit up against the seat belt. “Mr….Officer Brennan…I don’t think—”

His own throat ached to hear her rasping whisper.

“Call me Luke.” Backing out of the parking space, he gave her a grin. “I’m going back to work. You’ll have the house to yourself. It’s the easiest solution.”

He didn’t mention the other benefits—the fact that no one would look for her at his place. And that whoever had her keys could be inside her home by now.

Maybe he didn’t need to—she suddenly stopped fighting. “Okay.” The next time Luke glanced over, she was asleep.

Once parked in his own driveway, he left Sarah in the car while he went to unlock the kitchen door. Then he lifted her gently and carried her into the house. In the dining room he hesitated—where should he put her down?

The lumpy couch in the spare room, surrounded by piles of magazines? Erin and Jen’s room, which usually looked as though a hurricane had hit? Or…

Luke maneuvered carefully through the doorway to his bedroom. He’d changed the sheets this morning and neatened up. Sarah would have enough aches to deal with tomorrow. Why not give her the best rest possible?

He lowered her to the side of the bed he didn’t use and covered her with a blanket. Leaving an old football jersey nearby, with a note inviting her to help herself to anything in the house, he moved to the door, then stood for a second watching Sarah…Sarah who?…sleep.

She looked peaceful in the low light, almost happy. Her mouth had softened into a smile that even the bruises couldn’t dim. After a night of horror, she’d fallen into sleep as easily as a child could.

But reaction would set in—Luke had no doubt of that. He’d seen victims fall apart immediately, and he’d seen them hold back until they had privacy. He figured Sarah would want to be alone when she struggled with her personal tremors.

God knew, he always had.

That thought led him to Kristin, on her honeymoon with Matt. To Jen and Erin, at Disney World with their mother and their new dad. To a family that had once been his and now belonged to another man. His brother. Forever.

The house closed in on him, airless, lightless. Breathing hard, Luke fumbled his way toward the door, fighting the need to howl. He had to get out. Get back to work, back to a reality he could handle. Back to the outside world, filled though it might be with threats and violence and agony.

At least there he didn’t stand face-to-face with the total, wretched emptiness that constituted the rest of his life.

WHEN HE CAME HOME at 7:00 a.m., the only sign of Sarah’s presence was a glass standing on the counter by the kitchen sink. But he could hear water running in the back bathroom. Good for her—she must be a strong woman, to be getting back on track so soon.

As he walked by the desk in the corner of the dining room, he caught the blink of the answering machine light. “You have one new message,” the tinny recording announced.

“Hi, Luke.” The soft Southern accent needed no introduction. “It’s Kristin.”

A vise gripped his gut and twisted. He braced his arms on the desktop.

“The girls wanted to call and tell you what’s going on.”

“Hi, Daddy! It’s me!” Erin’s husky voice was as unique as the girl herself. “We went to Sea World yesterday and it was so cool. They have this tunnel under the water you can walk through and the fish swim on top of you, even the sharks. And the whale splashed us with about a zillion gallons of water until we were soaked. Mommy and Daddy Matt just laughed. Jen cried ’cause it made her drop her drink. What?” Her voice died away as someone in the background spoke. “But I’m not finished! Oh, okay. Here’s Jen.” The phone passed, and he heard Erin’s scathing whisper to her sister. “Baby!”

Luke tried to smile.

“Daddy?” His four-year-old was as quiet as her sister was talkative. “I’m Jenny. I spilled my drink. Mommy got me a new one and a dolphin hat. We’re going to the Magic Kingdom now. I’ll say hello to Peter Pan like you said.” More background conversation, as his heart slammed against his ribs hard enough to crack cartilage. “Bye, Daddy.”

“Bye, Daddy!” Erin chimed in. “I love you!”

His tears didn’t wait for the end of the call.

“We thought we’d let you know that everything’s just fine down here, Luke.” Kristin sounded her usual sunny, in-control self. “The girls miss you, but they’re having a good time. We’ll be back next Saturday, and we’ll call again before then. Take care.” The machine clicked off.

Helpless against his own emotions, Luke hunched over the desk. He missed them so much—his daughters and his wife. How was he supposed to live with his heart ripped out?

“Luke?” Sarah’s bandaged hand closed lightly on his upper arm. Her voice was barely a whisper. “Luke, what’s wrong?”

A quick turn of his head shook his eyes clear. She stared up at him, her brows drawn together in concern, her face a collage of bruises and scraped skin. His football jersey swamped her.

“What’s wrong?” she asked again.

He couldn’t say, “nothing.” And he didn’t know how to explain. “My little girls—”

The grip of her fingers tightened. “Has something happened? Are they okay?”

Luke drew a deep breath. “Sure. They’re great.” Sarah started to relax, and he knew he should let the subject rest. Why tell her? Why go over any of it again? “They’re with their mom at Disney World,” he heard himself say.

Sarah smiled, then winced. “That sounds like fun.”

“With my brother.” Her look turned puzzled. “He married Kristin on Saturday. They’re on their honeymoon.”

Confusion, then horror, crossed Sarah’s expressive face. She drew her hand away and stepped back.

Furious that he’d made such an obvious play for her sympathy, Luke pushed off the desk and headed for the kitchen. “Do you want some coffee?”

The grounds were measured and the brew dripping into the pot before Sarah followed him. He glanced up as she limped stiffly into the kitchen. “Milk? Sugar?”

She lowered herself into a chair at the table, shaking her head. “Black, please. Luke—”

He held up a hand. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of that. Let’s just forget it, okay? I brought some doughnuts for breakfast. Have one.”

But she didn’t make a move toward the box on the table, just stared at him with that serious, green-gold gaze. “You’re divorced?”

Luke turned back to the coffeemaker. “Yeah.”

“Because of…him?”

Carefully, he took two mugs out of the cabinet. “Yeah.”

“I’m so sorry.”

At that, he chuckled. “Hell, Sarah. Nobody’s as sorry as I am.” He brought the filled mugs to the table. “But for the record, it’s not as tabloid as it sounds. She was engaged to Matt first. He went missing on a classified Army assignment and they told us he was dead. We got married and Erin and Jen were born. Then, after five years, Matt came back.”

“Five years!”

“He’d been a POW the whole time, which the Army in its wisdom either didn’t know or wouldn’t tell us. Kristin hadn’t ever stopped loving him, and…and it was tearing her apart, being with me when he was around. So there you go.” Grabbing a raspberry-filled pastry, he took a sticky bite.

Sarah still hadn’t touched her coffee or the doughnuts. “You’re very honorable, to set her free.”

“A white knight, in the flesh.”

“Do the girls live here with you?”

He ran out of brittle comments. “Not full-time. Kristin and I have been sharing custody since I moved out about eighteen months ago. But now…” Luke couldn’t bear to think about the change in his life. And he surely couldn’t translate pure anguish into words.

The woman across the table accepted his silence and picked up her cup with the fingers and thumbs of both hands, taking a small sip of coffee. She chose a raspberry doughnut and finished it, along with the brew, in silence. Then she looked over. “I don’t suppose anyone’s turned in my purse.”

Luke released a relieved breath at the change in subject. “I checked before I left the station. No.”

She rested her unbruised temple on the back of her bandaged wrist. “I don’t even know where to start. I can’t get into my car without keys, and I can’t get extra keys because they’re in the condo.” Her sigh wavered. “I can’t get in there without keys and the manager doesn’t know me without ID, but all my ID—”

“Hold on, Sarah. Calm down.” Her rough whisper had taken on an edge of hysteria that worried him. “Don’t try to solve all the problems at once. You have an extra key to the car?”

She nodded, brushing a fingertip across her marred cheek to catch a tear.

“That’s good. We’ll go to the condo, and I can convince the manager to let you in.”

“How?”

“I’m a cop. Why shouldn’t he believe me?”

“She.” Her lips quivered in a near smile.

Luke grinned back. Solid ground for both of them. “She. Once we get into your place, we’ll call the credit card companies. Then—”

“Credit cards?”

“You have to cancel them, right? The guy could be running up your bill.”

She stared at him, then shook her head. “That’s—that’s right. I totally forgot about the cards.”

“Well, now you remember. So we’ll cancel them and then we’ll get your car.”

“Wait…I’m confused.” She held up a hand. “Why should you—I mean, don’t you…have other things to do?”

“Sure,” Luke lied, unable to pull up a laugh of any kind. “But you need some help and I’ve got the time to spare. We’re the perfect couple.”

Sarah’s gaze demanded a deeper level of truth. He cleared his throat. “Look, I hate what that guy did to you. If I can’t find him, at least I can help you get things back together. Any friend would do that for another. And don’t ask me why, but I feel like we are. Friends.” There. That was as honest as he could be.

She did smile then, for the first time since last night. “Me, too. Which is really weird, because—”

“Because I can’t even remember your last name.”

“Randolph. Sarah Rose Randolph.”

“Well, Sarah Rose, you’re as dressed as a lot of people ever get in a beach town. Find your shoes and let’s start putting your life back together.”

SARAH KNEW she shouldn’t let herself depend on Luke. As a capable adult, she ought to be able to get herself out of any trouble she got into. Until six months ago, she wouldn’t have dreamed of imposing on anyone like this.

But, oh, the comfort of having him there. With Luke standing behind her, she found the strength to assert her identity to the condo manager, who actually believed her and let them into the house without an argument.

And with Luke around, instead of dwelling on her problems and giving up on the solutions, she felt focused enough to look through the file box she’d started for her bills, finding the credit card slips and the numbers she needed. The people on the other end of the line for each company seemed very kind. Or was that just the soothing effect of Luke’s presence?

She paused between phone calls. “There’s juice in the refrigerator, I think. Help yourself.”

“Thanks, I will. How about you?”

“Yes, please.” The first cabinet he opened contained the glasses. He chose tall ones—as she would have—and added ice, just as she liked it. She’d had the same experience last night in his kitchen—she’d known exactly where things would be, as if their minds worked in the same pattern. Sarah thought such instant closeness should be scary.

Instead, she felt grateful to have found a friend like Luke.

“That’s the last of them?” he asked as she clumsily hung up the phone.

“I think so.”

“Did they report any large charges since last night?”

“None for days.”

“Good—we stopped him before he got started.” Then he snapped his fingers. “Do you have a phone card?”

“A—” Sarah stopped herself from repeating his words, like a lost child. “I do, as a matter of fact. I’ll call the phone company.”

When she hung up this time, he had picked up the framed photograph she kept on the table by the couch. “Is this your brother? Boyfriend?”

“James Daley. I…worked with him.”

“James Daley, the journalist?”

“That’s the one.”

Luke gave her a searching look. “Daley’s pretty good. I like his stuff for Events.”

“James always told the story as he saw it.”

“Told?”

Sarah braced herself to say the words she’d practiced so often. “He was killed by a stray bullet in Afghanistan, about seven months ago.”

“You were there?”

“I was his photographer.”

He set the frame gently back on the table. “I should know your work, too, shouldn’t I?”

“Not necessarily—my name is usually in the small print at the end of the article.”

“So when you took pictures of Jen and Erin, you were doing us a favor—not just out to make a quick buck.” Luke’s cheeks reddened. “I apologize for misunderstanding.”

“Not at all.” Sarah carefully carried her drink between her fingers and sat on the couch beside him. “Saturday wasn’t the easiest day you’ve ever had.”

“Still…”

“I was just glad to get the shots. And the pictures were everything I hoped. But he took them when…” Her mind’s eye flashed back to last night, to a knee in her back, the sudden impact with graveled ground, rough hands dragging her portfolio out from under her body.

“Oh, damn.” She put her head back, willing the tears not to fall.

Luke took her glass away, then his arms surrounded her, nestled her against his firm chest as he stroked her hair, avoiding the bandages. “It’s okay, Sarah,” he whispered. “It’s okay to cry.”

Sarah resisted the urge to pull away. She let her cheek rest on him, breathed in the clean scent of his black T-shirt. How long had it been since anyone had put their arms around her? Longer than she could remember.

Longer, still, since being held had felt so right. For all his talent and intelligence—or maybe because of his exceptional gifts—James had never been a comforting person. He’d accepted the truth, dealt with it head-on and expected everyone around him to do the same. Sarah had prided herself on meeting that expectation, on functioning independently. Until James died.

Since then, her life seemed to consist of fragments—like the shards of a broken mirror—none of which she could fit together. And there was no one who cared enough to help her try.

So she stayed quiet for just a few minutes, soaking up the solace Luke offered. Long before she was ready, she sat up out of his arms and summoned a smile. “Thanks.” She pushed her hair back with fingers that shook. “You really are a good friend to have around.”

His hands lingered on her shoulders. “Are you okay?”

Sarah nodded. “I’m fine, now. Let me change clothes and get the key for the car. I’ll be just a few minutes.”

He toasted her with his glass of juice. “Take your time.”

But she hurried through the process of dressing, avoiding her reflection as much as possible. She’d been assaulted twice before—in other countries, by people involved in activities they didn’t want recorded. She knew how to survive the pain, realized that the bruises would fade, the scrapes would heal.

Ignoring the ache in her ribs and shoulders, she found dark brown linen pants to cover the bandages on her legs and a light, long-sleeved tunic which did the same for her arms.

The problem came with her hair. She couldn’t lift her arms much above her waist, let alone hold a brush tight enough to pull out tangles and knots.

Did she dare…?

As she stepped back into the living room, Luke glanced up from a copy of Events. “You look much better.”

“I’m feeling much, much better.” She swallowed hard against her nerves. “I have only one more favor to ask.”

“What’s that?”

Sarah held out the brush. “Would you?”

“Be glad to.” He stretched to his feet. “Sit in one of those tall chairs at the counter.”

Standing behind her, he took the brush and picked up the weight of her hair. “You’ve got a handful of curls here, don’t you?” His gentle tug on the ends was more delicate than she could possibly have managed. Sarah barely felt the pull on her bandages.

“I usually keep it braided and out of the way. I don’t know what happened last night—how it came undone.” The tension in her shoulders began melting away as he stroked her hair back from her face. She closed her eyes.

“Do you want me to braid it for you?”

“Can you?”

“I braid Erin’s and Jen’s all the time. It’s a survival skill for fathers of little girls.”

“What are they like, your girls?”

He chuckled. “Erin’s the wild one—adventurous, independent, stubborn. She goes after what she wants, no matter the risk. She likes the ocean and bicycles and science books.”

“Does she take after her dad, maybe?”

He went completely still for a second, then resumed brushing. “Sure. Jen’s gentler, quieter, but just as stubborn when she wants to be. She plays dolls and has tea parties, wants to hear fairy tales and dress up like a princess.”

As she had been on her mother’s wedding day. “How old are they?”

“Erin will turn seven this summer. Jen’s four.” Luke put the brush on the counter. “Here goes.”

He touched the crown of her head softly, gathering hair, tugging a bit against the bandage, but Sarah hardly noticed. The play of his fingers on her scalp set up small waves of pleasure, like the lap of the sun-heated ocean in a tidal pool on the beach. She took a deep breath and released it slowly. Now she knew why women enjoyed having their hair styled. So relaxing, so soothing, so…so seductive.

“Finished.” He draped the end of the braid over her shoulder. “Do you have a band?”

She slipped it off her fingers, struggling to stay casual. “If you ever get tired of being a cop, you should consider braiding hair for a living. Thanks.”

When she faced him, he’d stepped back and hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans. “You’re welcome—it was my pleasure. Did you find your keys?”

He was ready to go. Much as she hated to end her time with him, she had no right to keep Luke in her life. “They’re right here in the drawer.” She grabbed the jangle of keys and a hat off the peg by the door. “Now, I’m all set!”

Or she could pretend she was, anyway.

CHAPTER THREE

LUKE PUT ON his sunglasses when they got into the truck, then frowned at the thought he was using them as a mask.

But the truth was, he’d enjoyed brushing Sarah’s hair. Too much. The gold-brown curls were softer than they looked, like water almost, sluicing over his hands. She’d relaxed as he brushed and braided, reminding him of a kitten being stroked…and all at once he realized his body had responded to that idea with more interest than he’d have believed possible.

Since Kristin…since Kristin and Matt…he hadn’t thought about sex. But the nape of Sarah’s neck was soft, vulnerable. Her skin was smooth and tan, the sound of her breath like a soft wind in the trees. For just a second, he wanted…something he had no right to. Again.

He took a deep breath. “Where’s your car?”

“Sawyer’s Photo Shop. Not too far from the police station.” She shivered as she spoke.

“He won’t be there now.” For just a second, Luke covered her hand with his own. “And if he is, I’ll make sure he doesn’t bother you or anybody else for a good long time. Okay?”

She had a sweet, sunny smile, underneath the bruises. “Okay.”

He drove to the bank first, waiting while Sarah arranged to put a stop on any checks. She’d found her birth certificate and insurance papers before they left the condo and she used them to get a new driver’s license, which would allow her to open another checking account when she was ready.

As they waited for a traffic light to change, Sarah shifted on the seat. “Your hair’s a little long for one of Myrtle Beach’s finest. Have they updated police regulations?”

Luke smiled. “I’ve been on special duty—hanging with the beach regulars for the past year or so, keeping an eye on their less…aquatic…activities.”

“A surfer dude?”

“Nope. The word dude is out with serious surfers. They’re proud of their life in opposition to the mainstream.”

Sarah nodded. “I’ll remember. Surfing for a living sounds like a good job, though. Low stress.”

“Oh, yeah. Especially in January, wearing a cold wet suit and freezing my…nose…off.”

“Not your idea of fun?”

“My idea of fun in January is a fireplace, a TV football game, and a bowl of popcorn.” He held the picture of that scene in his mind’s eye—Erin napping on the armchair, Kristin in the curve of his arm, almost dozing as she nursed Jen. Less than two years ago, he’d lived a perfect life.

“Luke? Luke!” Sarah’s voice brought him back.

The brakes squealed as he automatically stomped the pedal, bringing the truck to a stop with about two inches to spare behind the Mercedes ahead.

Sarah was staring at him, her eyes wide. “She pulled right in front of you, but I didn’t think you’d seen.”

Luke wiped a hand over his face. “You were right. I was…my mind had—”

She nodded. “I can guess. Good thing you have quick reflexes.”

A honk from behind jerked their attention to the green traffic light. Luke gritted his teeth and accelerated carefully.

They arrived at Sawyer’s Photo Shop without any more stupidity on his part. Sarah directed him around the back of the painted concrete block building, where an olive-green Jeep and a full-size Cadillac shimmered in the morning sun. Luke cut the engine. “I’m betting yours is the Jeep.”

She accepted his help to climb down from the truck’s high seat. “Brilliant deduction, Officer Brennan.”

“Corporal First Class.” He grinned as she stuck out her tongue at him, then followed her to the Jeep. “I checked with Hank Jordan, the investigating officer. They dusted for prints—no results yet. But if the guy has your keys, why didn’t he take the car? Jeeps are a high-return item in the stolen-car market.”

“Maybe he didn’t like the way it drove?”

He gave her question the chuckle it deserved. “Even if he didn’t want it, I expect he knows someone who would. So…”

Using the tips of her fingers, Sarah opened the Jeep door. A wall of heat broke over them. “I’d say this car hasn’t been anywhere since I parked it yesterday about three o’clock.”

“And the question would be, why not?” Luke couldn’t come up with an answer that made sense.

“If we don’t know, I guess there’s nothing we can do.” Sarah stared into the interior of the Jeep for a few seconds, then seemed to shake herself free. “So life goes on. You can get some sleep and I can make some more prints. Good thing I left the negatives in the files.”

“What I have to get first is a haircut. I go on regular patrol duty starting Wednesday night.”

“No more surfing?”

He shook his head. “Back to real life.”

She nodded. “I’ll bring the pictures by your house sometime this week, okay?”

With her hat brim shading the bruises, bandages and scrapes, her face looked almost normal—sweet and calm and, as he remembered noticing on the beach, sad. Luke was suddenly reluctant to say goodbye.

But his life was too much of a mess to mix with anybody else’s. “I’m home most afternoons.” He stepped back, and sunlight fell on the ground between them. “Are you sure you feel like driving? Those hands have to hurt.”

“I’m fine—thanks to a little white pill. Plus an automatic transmission and power steering. No problem.” Her hesitation in getting up into the Jeep belied her confident statement.

Luke gave her a lift at the elbow. The bones in her arm were as light as a bird’s. “I’ll…be in touch if anything turns up on the case.”

“Thanks.” She put the key in the ignition and the Jeep puttered to life. Luke stepped back as the vehicle started to move. At the edge of the parking lot, Sarah lifted her hand and glanced at him in the rearview mirror before driving away. He waved, but wasn’t sure she saw him.

Alone again, he studied the ground around him, wondering if Jordan had missed anything when he’d checked out the site of the mugging.

Fifteen minutes later, he doubted it. If the gravel had ever held any clues, they’d been scuffed away.

That left him with no theory about who’d attacked Sarah Randolph. And with the rest of a long, hot Monday to fill.

Not to mention the rest of the summer…and the rest of his life.

THE FLORIDA SUN beat against exposed skin with an almost physical force. Kristin Brennan shifted a little on her chaise longue and prepared to sink deeper into pure indolence.

“Strawberry daiquiri for the lady?”

She peered sleepily over the top edge of her sunglasses, then woke up fast. “Just what I’ve been dying for! How did you know?”

Her husband sat down near her feet. “It’s hot, we’re in Florida, you love strawberries. Simple deduction.”

“Mmm.” She sipped the frozen drink gratefully. “I might just stay right here for the rest of my life, reading romances and soaking up sun and drinking daiquiris.”

Matt stroked his palm along her ankle. “The hotel would probably pay you to hang around. You really improve the scenery.”

His cool hand against her heated skin tightened every nerve in her body. If they weren’t in public…

She gathered her wandering thoughts. “Did you get the girls settled?”

“They’re safely installed in the Wee Willie Winky Center, busily finger-painting to music from every Disney movie ever made.”

“I hope Erin doesn’t get bored.”

Matt’s thumb traced a path up her calf, then circled the bend of her knee, with devastating effect. “They’ve got three aquariums and a library of science books. She’s all set.”

“So we’ve got…some free…time. What should we do?”

“I was thinking about a nap.” He looked up suddenly, and grinned. “Or something.” His hand slipped sideways to rest between her knees. “What do you think?”

“Ah…” Her thoughts puddled like an ice cube on the pool deck. “Sounds…lovely. Why don’t you go on up to the room—I’ll be there in just a few minutes.”

His brows drew together. “Come with me.”

“I need to get a shower first. I’m all sticky with lotion.”

He moved his hand slightly and smiled at her ragged breath. “I don’t mind.”

“But I do. Let me clean up a bit and I’ll be right there.”

“Women.” Shaking his head, Matt drew his hand slowly away from her legs and stood up. “I’ll be waiting.”

Kristin winked at him. “Me, too.”

She watched him walk toward the hotel, straight-backed and square-shouldered, his dark hair cut in a short style that marked him right away as military. He held the door open for a woman and three children before going inside. That was just like Matt—manners were carved into his bones. Along with responsibility and a strong sense of honor.

Once he’d disappeared behind the tinted glass of the lobby windows, Kristin dropped back against her chair. She loved him so much…wanted him so desperately…her idea of paradise was a couple of hours spent in a quiet room with his arms around her. Yet she sat here, hesitating. Why?

The answer in one word—Luke.

No matter how much she loved Matt, Kristin couldn’t get free of the guilt her desertion of Luke had created. She didn’t know if she ever would.

Leaving the pool and the bright sunshine, she took a shower in the locker room, washed and dried her hair, and put on just enough makeup to hide the circles under her eyes. Sleep didn’t come easily anymore, even after a full day of walking through theme parks with the girls. Or after wonderful hours of loving with Matt, once her daughters were sound asleep in their adjoining room.

Luke’s face haunted her, waking and sleeping. To remember the sacrifice he’d made for this marriage, this family, all she had to do was close her eyes.

Eight years ago, she’d betrayed Matt by marrying his brother. Then she’d broken her vows to Luke—the “until death do us part” promise. Now…

Now, everything she’d ever wanted was within her reach—the man she’d loved since junior high, and two beautiful, precious daughters. Even the possibility of more children.

Yes, she had everything…but she’d left Luke with nothing. How could she enjoy her happiness at his expense? Yet how could she have denied Matt the dream of love and family that had kept him alive through five years of imprisonment and torture?

Just outside the door to their hotel room, Kristin paused, getting herself under control. She couldn’t burden Matt with her own regrets.

But the door opened before she was ready. “It’s about time.” Matt caught her hand and drew her inside, into his arms. “I wondered if you would make me wait forever.”

His hands roamed her shoulders, slipping the straps of her tank top out of the way. He pressed kisses on her eyelids, her throat, her ears, until she was half crazy with the need to kiss him back.

Catching his lean cheeks with her palms, she held him still. “You’ll never have to wait, Matt. Never again.” Then she brought him close enough that she could capture his mouth with her own.

But she kept her eyes open, for fear of what—who—she’d see if she let them close.

WHEN LUKE HADN’T heard from Sarah about the pictures by Wednesday night, he considered calling. He’d thought about her for two days, hoping she’d phone or come by, disappointed when she didn’t. But he didn’t want to pester her. She would get to the pictures when she had time.

After a solitary dinner and a solitary movie, he went to work on the late shift—cruising the beaches and the downtown streets, looking out for trouble. The boardwalk was still busy after midnight, and the bars on the ocean-front stayed open late.

He heard the fight before he pinpointed its location—a crash of glass and the eruption of swearing gave him his first clue. As he ran toward the noise, a struggling ball of humanity rolled out of the Blue Flamingo’s door. Luke radioed for backup, then joined the general chaos.

“Police! Get back—” He pulled a couple of bystanders away. “This is the police—fun’s over, boys.” Grabbing the tail of a T-shirt, he yanked hard. “Time to go home.”

Sirens announced the approach of the backup. Luke had all the wrestlers pretty much separated by the time reinforcements arrived. The guys were too drunk to protest as they were read their rights and loaded into cars.

“You don’t look like much of a cop.”

Luke turned toward the voice and saw a young man he was sure was drunk…and was equally sure wasn’t old enough to drink. “You don’t look like much of an adult, either. Do your parents know where you are?”

“Sure, man.” But the bleary gaze slid away.

“Want to show me some ID?”

The boy shrugged. “Lost it, man.”

“Sure. So give me your address.”

“Aww…”

“Or spend the night in jail. You choose.”

An hour later, Luke drove away from the boy’s home, having awakened a mother who explained at great length how the whole problem was her ex-husband’s responsibility. The rest of the night passed quietly enough, giving Luke too much time to think about how much influence a father could have on his child’s life. Whether he was there or not, whether he cared or didn’t…a little kid’s whole world might depend on his—or her—dad.

What kind of repercussions would Erin and Jenny face because of the choices he and Kristin had made?

FRIDAY AFTERNOON, Luke remembered Sarah saying she used the darkroom at the camera shop where she’d been mugged. Maybe he would find her there. It was worth a try.

A bell jingled as he stepped into the dimness of Sawyer’s Photo Shop. The walls and ceiling were painted black, the windows shuttered against sunlight. At one end of the narrow space, dusty shelves held picture frames and photo albums, equally dusty. A sales counter stretched across the other end, with cameras and film displayed in cubbyholes behind.

The long wall on either side of the door exhibited framed and signed photographs. Luke moved closer, wondering if the pictures were Sarah’s. They certainly looked professional, and he found himself absorbed in unique perspectives of everyday places and things.

Behind him, cloth rustled. Hoping for Sarah, he blew out a short breath when he turned to see a man step through the black-curtained doorway.

“Can I help you?” A fairly young guy stood behind the counter, his expression polite but not exactly friendly.

“These are great pictures.” Luke gestured toward the photographs.

A real smile brightened the round face. “Thank you. I take a lot of pleasure and pride in my work.”

“They’re yours?”

“Yes. I’m Charles Sawyer. Can I help you with something? Film? A camera?”

“No, thanks. Actually, I’m trying to track down someone who works here.”

“I run the shop alone.”

“But Sarah Randolph develops her photographs here, right?”

The smile on the man’s face faded. “Yes.”

“Is she around?”

“No. She had…an accident last week and is recuperating at home.” Charles’s tone didn’t drip with sympathy. “Do you need some photography done? I’d be glad to assist you.”

“No, thanks. I’m Luke Brennan, the cop who took her to the ER last weekend to get patched up. I just wondered how she’s doing.”

Sawyer’s eyes narrowed. “A cop?”

“Is that a problem?”

“No. No, not at all. But as I said, I haven’t seen her all week.”

“Have you talked to her?”

“No.”

“Aren’t you worried about her?”

“Not really.” Sawyer chuckled. “Sarah’s a photo-journalist, you know—one tough lady.” He paused, lips pursed. “Or she was, anyway. She worked for Events magazine until a few months ago, when she collapsed in the middle of a job and had to be shipped home. She hasn’t worked since coming back to the States. Or even taken any meaningful photographs.”

Oh, yes, she has. “Well, thanks. I guess I’ll track her down somewhere else.”

“If I do see her, I’ll be sure to tell her you were here.”

“I’d appreciate it.” The bell on the door clanked again as Luke pulled it open. “Have a good day.” A final glance at the chubby man behind the counter registered outright hostility.

For whatever reasons, Sawyer obviously had problems with Sarah. Big enough problems that he’d attack her? The guy seemed like a jerk, but was he a criminal, too?

A background check wouldn’t hurt, Luke decided. Most victims of assault knew the perpetrator. Why not Sarah Rose?

Meantime, he still hadn’t found her. If she didn’t call tonight, he would forget his reservations about pestering her. With friends like Charles Sawyer, Sarah definitely needed a cop on her side.

SARAH SPENT the week secluded in her condo.

If asked, she could have pointed out that she needed to be there when the locksmith came. That the doctor had suggested staying out of the sun while she was taking the antibiotic. Even that the bruises on her face had gone from bad to worse, from red and blue to a horrible mottled purple, and she didn’t want to scare children and animals.

Sarah recognized those reasons as excuses. Good ones, but still rationalizations. Going out would take too much effort. She simply didn’t have the energy.

And so she stayed in, wearing her pajamas. Several good movies showed up on television, several times a day. She slept when she wanted, many hours at a time. Food didn’t seem very important—she survived on ice cream, popcorn and buttered toast. She’d eaten much worse in Africa.

The manager sent up a locksmith to change the door locks, so she felt safer. She could check on the Jeep from her window, but those locks would have to be changed at the dealership. That would require going out.

As if cooperating with her agenda, the phone didn’t ring. Her agent didn’t check in—there were no deals to talk about. Her editor at Events only needed her if she could work. A photojournalist who refused to leave the house didn’t get many job offers.

And Luke Brennan didn’t call.

Not that she should expect him to. She was supposed to contact him, to bring the pictures to his house—pictures she hadn’t yet developed. But going to the darkroom at the photo shop meant seeing Chuck, taking his jibes, trying not to mind his mockery. Sarah couldn’t face that prospect, either, even though it meant she wouldn’t see Luke.

Eventually, though, the ice cream and popcorn and bread ran out. Sarah realized she could either stay in and starve to death…or get herself together and go shopping. Saturday morning, she dredged up the will to try.

She gasped as the brightness of the day sliced at her eyes, even behind dark lenses, even under a wide-brimmed hat. The humidity was high, especially after five days in constant air-conditioning. All the usual outdoor noises—traffic, lawn mowers, sirens, birds—beat on her ears like a rock concert. Maybe she should just go back in—

“Sarah?” She wondered if she’d imagined that deep voice, that Southern accent, until she heard it again. “Sarah?”

Opening her eyes, she discovered Luke Brennan sitting astride a big Harley-Davidson parked next to the Jeep.

“What are you doing here?” She winced—her social graces had definitely deteriorated over the week alone. “I see you’ve had a haircut,” she added lamely. “Nice.”

“Thanks. I hadn’t heard from you about those pictures, so I came by to see if…if you’d printed them yet.”

Her photographer’s eye appreciated the aesthetic potential of a gorgeous guy in a white T-shirt, worn jeans and boots on a big, black bike. Short hair only emphasized the beauty of his face, revealing his well-shaped head and the strong column of his throat. He’d make a great pinup. Or maybe without the shirt…

She halted that thought in its tracks. “No. No, I haven’t. I’ve stayed in this week.”

“You deserved a break. Your voice sounds better.”

“Thanks. I guess not talking much helped.”

“That’s what the doctor said.” He crossed his arms, and her knees went weak. “So when do you think you’ll have the pictures?”

“Well…”

He looked embarrassed. “I don’t mean to hassle you or anything. I’m kind of anxious to see them, that’s all.”

“No, it’s not a hassle.” She was glad of a good reason to stay out of the house. “I could go down and print them now, actually. If you wanted to come with me and wait.”

“I would, but Jen and Erin are getting back from Florida this afternoon.”

Disappointment weighed her down. “I’ll call you, then.”

“Or…” He snapped his fingers. “Or we could meet a little later. I’ll go see the girls, then ride over to the shop. We can get something to eat, afterward. How does that sound?”

Tempted and yet troubled, Sarah hesitated. Luke’s smile turned coaxing, a little bit teasing, and completely irresistible. “Come on, Sarah Rose, say yes.”

He held out his hands, palms up, in an open, generous gesture. “How could a little dinner between friends possibly hurt?”

DADDY MATT TURNED OUT to be more fun than Erin expected.

He bought her a Goofy hat and a Minnie Mouse nightgown and cotton candy. When they went to Sea World, he let her have a Shamu cup with a curly straw, filled with strawberry punch. And he never ran out of money for the games in the kid’s club room at the hotel.

Sometimes Mommy went out with Daddy Matt by herself, which was okay, because the hotel had good baby-sitters with lots of videos and snacks. Even Jenny didn’t mind going to the baby-sitter’s room—she got to watch Cinderella as many times as she wanted.

Erin knew she didn’t have a real reason to be sad. She could have just about anything she wanted. What more could a kid ask for?

Like now—here she sat in the fanciest restaurant in the world, wearing a dress that she’d picked out all by herself and which didn’t scratch, and she’d just eaten a whole plate of really good spaghetti. They were going to have dessert in a few minutes, just as soon as Daddy Matt and Mommy came back from dancing.

“Mommy’s pretty,” Jenny said. “Like a princess.”

“A queen,” Erin corrected. That would make Daddy Matt the king.

Erin watched them dance. Mommy’s red dress swirled around her. She looked up at Daddy Matt, smiling. And he smiled down at her.

Maybe, Erin thought, she wouldn’t have dessert after all. Her stomach felt funny.

Back in their hotel room, Mommy was still smiling, still humming the dance music. She stopped long enough to get Jenny undressed and read them both a story. Jenny, as usual, fell asleep before the story ended.

But Erin stayed awake, listening, even after kissing Mommy good-night. She heard Mommy and Daddy Matt talking in the other room, and then laughing. And then there was music again. She didn’t have to see through the door to know they were dancing.

Erin turned over and put her pillow on top of her head. That drowned out the music. But she felt like she heard it in her head. And she saw Mommy dancing, even with her eyes closed.

In Erin’s head, though, Mommy danced with the right person. She danced with Daddy.

But Erin was old enough to know that if her dream could come true, she wouldn’t be crying herself to sleep.

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