“I swore I wasn’t going to do this.”

“Do what?” Alexis whispered.

“This.”

They came together with a shudder of need. Her hands slid over the silky panes of Wyatt’s chest to wrap around his neck in a silent plea. Wyatt’s lips covered hers.

It wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. She nipped at his lip in demand and the kiss went hot and wet with hunger. She felt him stir against her, hard and wanting, the way she wanted with a burning fierce intensity that consumed her.

Wyatt released her and stepped back, breathing hard. “Go to bed.”

Alexis wondered if she’d lost her mind. They didn’t know each other. Wyatt didn’t even know her real name! She trembled. “Come with me.”

Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

The holidays are upon us! We have six dazzling stories of intrigue that will make terrific stocking stuffers—not to mention a well-deserved reward for getting all your shopping done early….

Take a breather from the party planning and unwrap Rita Herron’s latest offering, A Warrior’s Mission—the next exciting installment of COLORADO CONFIDENTIAL, featuring a hot-blooded Cheyenne secret agent! Also this month, watch for The Third Twin—the conclusion of Dani Sinclair’s HEARTSKEEP trilogy that features an identical triplet heiress marked for murder who seeks refuge in the arms of a rugged lawman.

The joyride continues with Under Surveillance by highly acclaimed author Gayle Wilson. This second book in the PHOENIX BROTHERHOOD series has an undercover agent discovering that his simple surveillance job of a beautiful woman-in-jeopardy is filled with complications. Be there from the start when B.J. Daniels launches her brand-new miniseries, CASCADES CONCEALED, about a close-knit northwest community that’s visited by evil. Don’t miss the first unforgettable title, Mountain Sheriff.

As a special gift-wrapped treat, three terrific stories in one volume. Look for Boys in Blue by reader favorites Rebecca York, Ann Voss Peterson and Patricia Rosemoor about three long-lost New Orleans cop brothers who unite to reel in a killer. And rounding off a month of nonstop thrills and chills, a pregnant woman and her wrongly incarcerated husband must set aside their stormy past to bring the real culprit to justice in For the Sake of Their Baby by Alice Sharpe.

Best wishes to all of our loyal readers for a joyous holiday season!

Enjoy,

Denise O’Sullivan

Senior Editor

Harlequin Intrigue

The Third Twin
Dani Sinclair

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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For Natashya Wilson—I can’t thank you enough.

Ditto to Roger, Chip, Dan, Barb and Judy Fitzwater, who hung in there when I wasn’t sure I could.

And special thanks to Max, Mischief and Possum, the best stress relievers a writer could have.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

An avid reader, Dani Sinclair didn’t discover romance novels until her mother lent her one when she had come for a visit. Dani’s been hooked on the genre ever since. But she didn’t take up writing seriously until her two sons were grown. Since the premiere of Mystery Baby for Harlequin Intrigue in 1996, Dani has kept her computer busy. Her third novel, Better Watch Out, was a RITA® Award finalist in 1998. Dani lives outside Washington, D.C., a place she’s found to be a great source of both intrigue and humor!

You can write to her in care of the Harlequin Reader Service.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Dennison Hart—Was the Hart family patriarch murdered because he learned what had been done twenty-four years ago?

Amy Hart Thomas—Could a mother not know she gave birth to a child?

Brian and Lois Ryder—Did they know the truth all along?

Alexis Ryder—Who is she really?

Wyatt Crossley—A cop with a murder to solve.

Marcus Thomas—Was he blackmailed or the blackmailer for all those years?

Eden Voxx Thomas—If the truth comes out, she’ll go to jail.

Jacob Voxx—How far will Eden’s son go to protect his mother?

Mario Silva—What does the ex-con know about the past?

Livia Walsh—She was devoted to the Hart family. Too bad she can’t talk anymore.

Kathy Walsh—Livia’s daughter may know the answers if they can find her in time.

Bernie Duquette—Did Kathy’s boyfriend take one gamble too many?

George and Emily Walken—Were they more than family friends and neighbors of Heartskeep?

Hayley and Leigh Hart Thomas—They need to find Alexis first.

Bram Myers/Gavin Jarret—They are committed to protecting the women they love.

Dear Reader,

Heartskeep has been eerily watching, waiting for this day to come. The estate is willing to divulge its secrets to the right person—providing she can stay alive long enough to find the answers.

Alexis Ryder lives a normal life until the day she comes home from work to learn that nothing about her life is what it seems. Her parents aren’t really her parents, and her real family has reason to want her dead—and only part of that reason is a briefcase full of money and instructions to trust no one. Running from faceless killers, Alexis has no choice but to go to the small town of Stony Ridge looking for answers. But all she finds are more questions and an incredibly handsome stranger who mistakes her for someone else. If she can ignore the compelling attraction between them long enough, she just might learn what she needs to know.

Police officer Wyatt Crossley has a seven-year-old murder to solve and a family debt to repay. He never expects to find himself so attracted to one of the Thomas twins. Their dislike of the police in general, and the Crossley family in particular, makes his investigation into their mother’s death hard enough without becoming personally involved with one of them. Wyatt knows that Alexis—smart, sexy, yet beguilingly vulnerable—is keeping secrets from him. Unless he can earn her trust, those secrets may get them both killed.

Join me once more in the shadows of Heartskeep, where only love can dispel the darkness of betrayal and open the future for the Hart family heirs. Enjoy!

Happy reading,

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 One

The smell hit her as she pulled the key from the lock and her apartment door swung open. The pungent scent of whiskey had become all too familiar since her mother had died. Alexis Ryder felt her stomach churn in revulsion and anger.

What was her father doing here, in her apartment? He’d only been here once since she’d moved in with her college roommate, and then only because she’d felt compelled to invite him. He was her father, after all. But he’d arrived so drunk, he’d passed out five minutes later. He’d spent the night snoring on their couch.

Why was he here now? Why tonight of all times? She had a date in less than an hour.

Alexis strove to control her bitterness. “Dad?”

Dropping her purse and the mail on the table by the door, she bent to retrieve an envelope that had slipped to the floor. That was when she saw the blood. A vivid dark red, the splotch of color glittered against the faded gold carpeting.

Fear slammed into her. Instinctively she reached for the door handle, ready to flee even as her eyes traced a trail of drops to their tiny excuse for a kitchen.

Common sense kicked in. The smell of whiskey told its own tale. This was no burglar. What had her faher done?

“Dad?”

There wasn’t a sound from inside. She was unsurprised when he didn’t respond. No doubt he was passed out in there.

Releasing the door handle, she stepped into the room far enough to see the kitchen through the breakfast bar. The cupboard where they kept their meager supply of alcohol yawned open. A once-full bottle lay on the counter on its side, no longer able to dribble the rest of its golden-brown contents onto the floor.

Blood smeared the label. It streaked the cheap white cupboard and the countertop. Spilled whiskey mingled with the shattered remains of a glass, the shards glittering on the white linoleum floor.

Fear returned. What had he done? The meager trail of blood led away from the kitchen, down the hall toward the bedrooms. She took a step in that direction. The drops of blood on the floor grew larger. A smear streaked the white wall, as if someone had rested a second before moving into the bathroom.

Her chest felt incredibly tight. The sound of her heart beat loudly in her ears.

“Dad?”

Their cluttered yellow bathroom was barely recognizable. She hadn’t known that blood had an odor. It did, and it was one that even spilled whiskey couldn’t mask. A wadded, bloodstained dish towel lay in the sink.

The medicine chest stood ajar. Cosmetics and bottles of lotion had crashed to the floor. A tube of antiseptic cream lay on top of the toilet tank, a frightening testimony to an attempt to bandage a wound. What had he done?

“Dad!”

She was breathing too fast. A shaking had seized her taut limbs. Alexis stared at another blood smear near the doorknob of her bedroom. Her door wasn’t shut all the way. The latch didn’t always catch if she wasn’t careful. She’d been careful this morning.

For a moment her knees threatened to succumb to the weight of her fear, but she had to know. It might not be that bad. Obviously her father had cut himself and come here for help. He must have drunk himself into another stupor.

She nudged the door open with her foot.

For one very bad second she thought she would lose control over her stomach. The room grayed as a rushing sound filled her head. She stumbled toward the still figure lying on her bed.

“Daddy?”

She hadn’t called him that since she’d been a little girl—back when he’d still been her hero. Her vision blurred. She rubbed at her eyes to clear the tears sliding down her cheeks.

“Don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead.”

The whispered words sounded far away. As if they’d come from some other source.

Brian Ryder was sprawled on his back across her pastel bedspread. He didn’t move. His thin features were haggard with pain and his pale skin looked more like carved wax than living tissue. He’d pulled up his shirt. His abdomen was covered with one of her yellow bath towels. Blood stained the towel and the bony fingers that pressed the terry cloth against his abdomen.

There was another smell mixed with the foul stench of blood and whiskey. She’d never encountered the odor before, but she recognized it. The smell of death.

Alexis shut her eyes. Sobs tore from somewhere deep in her chest. She heard them, strangely detached from the sound.

She should have been a better daughter. She should have tried harder to understand. Alcoholism was a disease. It made people do things they wouldn’t ordinarily do. It destroyed fortunes and families. It wasn’t entirely his fault that he’d stopped being her hero. Her mother had died on a rain-slicked street and her father hadn’t been able to handle the loss. He had loved her mother more than anything in the world. Now they were both gone and she was alone. And he’d died without knowing that his only daughter still loved him.

The sobs tore from her heart.

When she opened her eyes, he was staring at her.

“Daddy!”

She flew to the bed.

“Oh, God. It’s going to be okay, Daddy. I’ll get an ambulance. Lie still. It’s going to b—”

His hand snaked out to grab her wrist, staining it with his blood. “Listen.”

“Yes. I will. I promise. Just let me call—”

“Listen!”

For a second his voice was as strong as his grip. She leaned over him, inhaling the scent of whiskey on his breath. But the glaze in his eyes wasn’t alcohol-induced.

“Get out of here! Now!”

“Daddy…”

“…be coming…here…next.” He struggled for breath, pushing out the words with desperate effort. “Take…briefcase. Don’t let any…one…get…it. Run! Promise…me!”

His fingers clawed her arm for emphasis.

“Yes. I’ll run.” Anything to make the nightmare stop. “I’ll take your briefcase,” she promised. “I’ll run. I won’t let anyone get it.”

The fingers relaxed their fierce pressure, though he continued to hold her. His eyes closed in pain or exhaustion or both.

“Should…have told you…truth.”

His chest heaved with the effort. There was a rattling sound that terrified her.

“Never mind! Don’t try to talk anymore, Daddy. Let me call an ambulance.”

He opened his eyes. The glassy look faded. For a minute he looked right at her. In his eyes was the father she remembered.

“I love you, Daddy.”

His lips worked into a smile. A trickle of frothy blood leaked from the corner of his mouth. “Good…daughter.” He whispered so softly she had to strain to make out his words. “Made…her…happy. Wish…you’d…been mine.”

“What?”

The rattle intensified. “Run!…Hart…keep.”

More spittle dribbled from between his lips, frothy with blood. His chest heaved with that terrible rattling sound and then he sighed. The hand clutching hers went limp.

“Daddy!”

She shook him. His eyes were fixed and empty. His features were oddly peaceful in death.

Alexis didn’t know how long she stood there, holding his dead hand and crying, but her body was tight with pain when she straightened. Her head throbbed. She swayed slightly, feeling light-headed and weak. Every muscle in her body felt stiff and uncoordinated. And she was so cold. Her teeth chattered uncontrollably.

Swollen red eyes stared back at her from her reflection in the mirror over her dresser. Her face was blotchy from her tears. There was blood on her wrist. She used a corner of the towel to wipe it off.

The apartment buzzer sounded—an imperious summons from someone in the downstairs lobby. She’d forgotten all about her date. It didn’t matter. He’d have to wait. Everything would have to wait. Her father was dead and she didn’t even know what or who had killed him.

Like a somnambulist, she left the room, barely able to think past the horror. The buzzer sounded again, impatiently this time. She couldn’t deal with a date right now. Her father was dead. He’d been so still in death. He’d always been so animated in life.

She entered the living room. The buzzer was an irritant. She wished it would stop. She was so terribly cold. Moving automatically toward the door she paused, staring at the shiny spot of blood on the floor.

“I need you, Daddy.”

The whispered words ended on a broken sob. Except she couldn’t cry anymore. She felt spent. Besides, tears wouldn’t bring him back. Yet her eyes continued to burn with fresh tears.

The buzzer stopped its annoying sound. She swayed, feeling sick. She couldn’t seem to think. She should call for help. Only there was nothing anyone could do to help. Her father was dead.

Run!

He’d told her to run.

Fear slipped past her barrier of shock and grief as the memory of his broken words surfaced. She hadn’t given real thought to how he’d died or why, too caught up in the horror of his death. Now she tried to wrap her sluggish mind around that thought.

Her father had ordered her to go. He’d used his last remaining strength to tell her to run. She pictured the blood, the towel pressed to his abdomen. This hadn’t been some careless, drunken accident. Something far more horrible had happened.

Run!

Her gaze fastened on a large suitcase-shaped briefcase. The dull black leather was nothing like the worn brown case he usually carried—the one her mother had given him years ago when life had been fun and happy.

Lifting the unfamiliar case, she was surprised by its weight. The case was sticky with his blood. Adrenaline shoved aside her shock. Her father had died, struggling to tell her to take the briefcase and go.

She looked around for something to wipe the blood from her hand. Linda’s favorite throw pillow was the closest object. She didn’t care. She had never had liked that shade of orange anyhow.

In the hall outside her apartment, the ancient elevator ground to a halt. The sound was alien. Menacing. No one who lived in the building ever used that elevator. Most visitors took one look and opted for the stairs.

Heavy footsteps started down the hall. Terror seized her. She realized she’d left the front door ajar.

Someone would come here next. Run!

She’d waited too long. Now there was no place to run. Clutching the briefcase against her chest, she snatched up her purse. Mail fell to the floor. She ignored it and darted inside the miniscule hall closet, pulling the door closed.

Her heart threatened to beat its way free of her chest as she heard the footsteps stop in front of her apartment. She sensed more than heard the front door swing open.

Alexis held her breath. With every thud of her heart, she waited for someone to fling open the closet and to kill her, too. Seconds passed. What was he doing? What was he waiting for?

Heavy footsteps moved into the living room. Panic held her immobile as she strained to listen.

The sound of glass crunching beneath an incautious foot put the intruder in the kitchen. Alexis opened the closet. He’d closed the front door. Her fingers felt numb as she turned the handle and slipped into the hall.

The elevator yawned open across from her. A death trap, more so now than ever. But someone was coming up the stairs. In seconds the person would be in view. Or worse, the intruder inside her apartment would open the door at her back.

Alexis ran for the elevator. Flattening her body against the dirty metal panel, she prayed she was hidden from direct view while she strove to control the sound of her raspy breath. The person on the stairs was coming down the hall. Terror left her muscles straining with tension as she battled an urge to run.

Her apartment door opened. “What are you doing here?”

A man’s voice. She didn’t recognize it. She missed the low-murmured response. “Forget it, she’s gone. We’d better go, too.”

Mrs. Nicholson’s dog began yipping in pleasure as animal and owner headed down the main steps from the floor above. The sound covered what the voices were saying.

“…find her. Get inside.”

Her apartment door closed. Alexis pressed the button that would take the decrepit elevator up to the next floor. The old metal doors crawled closed. Sounding as if any second might be its last, the elevator rose with painful slowness.

She stayed pressed against the side until it finally ground to a halt and opened once more. The hall beyond was empty and silent. Alexis pressed every floor, sending it on up, then ran for the back stairs.

But running was bad. Running would attract attention. She mustn’t draw attention. They’d be watching for that. She didn’t know what these people looked like, but it was certain that they would know her. Her car was in the garage down the street. She’d have to walk around the block to get there.

Walk. Don’t run.

They’d expect her to use the back door out of the building since they’d come in the front, so Alexis forced herself to walk down the hall toward the main entrance. She squirmed out of her white summer blazer and folded it over the briefcase as she stepped onto the noisy, dirty street outside.

She welcomed the people moving past, intent on getting home and out of the city heat. The ninety-seven-degree temperature didn’t faze the ice in possession of her body. With each step, she fought the panic screaming inside her head. Panic that urged her to run, urged her to look back to see if she was being followed.

A horn blared so loudly that it made her jump. Balanced on the razor’s edge of hysteria, she averted her head and kept walking. Other horns joined in screaming protest. They weren’t honking at her so it didn’t matter. Let them honk. This was rush hour in New York. Everyone used their horns. Her brain filtered out the noise and kept her moving.

She was deaf with fear by the time she reached the busy garage. It took every bit of strength she had not to break into a run to the safety of her seldom-used car. At each step, she expected to be stopped by a hand on her shoulder—or worse.

She nearly sobbed with relief when she reached her car. Putting down the briefcase, she searched desperately through her purse for the keys. She was shaking hard by the time she found them. The automatic button released the lock. She tossed the briefcase onto the passenger seat and slid inside, locking the doors and slumping down to allow herself the luxury of sitting a few minutes until the worst of her shaking had passed.

When she could manage it, she put the key into the ignition and backed slowly from the narrow parking space. She rarely drove and this was the height of rush hour. Inhaling deeply, she plunged into traffic. Normally a timid driver, she pushed the small car recklessly through the crowded streets until she had no choice but to slow down in the bumper-to-bumper traffic waiting to cross one of the bridges leading out of town.

It didn’t matter which bridge or where she headed. She only needed to leave the city behind. Panic still hovered on the edges of her mind as she followed the flow of traffic until she found herself on an interstate, still in New York state.

She had no idea where to go, what to do. She pictured the faces of friends and acquaintances. How could she drag anyone else into this? She didn’t even know what “this” was all about.

Her father was dead. She didn’t know why or even how. There was no family to turn to. Her mother had been an orphan. Her father had been the only child of elderly parents. If there were cousins, she didn’t know about them. She was totally on her own.

Alexis shuddered. She reached for her jacket and struggled into it as she drove. She was so cold. So scared. She should go to the police. Only, her father hadn’t told her to go to the police, he’d told her to run. Why?

Alexis shot a glance at the briefcase on the seat beside her. She was loath to touch the heavy object again. Like Pandora’s box, opening that briefcase might turn loose the evil that had killed her father.

She tore her gaze away and kept driving until the gas gauge warning light came on. She’d forgotten to fill the tank again. She’d have to stop somewhere. Surely she was safe now. No one could have followed her. Even she didn’t know exactly where she was.

Exhausted, she watched for signs for the next gas station, finally pulling off the road at a rest area. Parking as far from other cars as possible, she sat for a minute trying to decide what to do. She couldn’t just leave her father there. She should call someone.

Who? What could she tell them?

Her fingers trembled as she reached for her seat belt. There was no choice. She had to open the briefcase. Surely the contents would tell her what this nightmare was all about.

Even though she’d parked near the end of the lot, Alexis scanned the area to be sure no one was nearby. If an inanimate object could be evil, surely this briefcase was evil. She had to force her fingers to reach for the locks so she could peer inside.

A scream of protest filled her mind, but never made it past her lips. Beneath a thick manila envelope, the briefcase was filled with stacks of what appeared to be hundred-dollar bills. She closed her eyes tightly, wishing she could make them disappear by thought alone.

What had he done? Dear God, what had he done? Her father didn’t have this kind of money. Only drug dealers or kidnappers had this sort of cash.

Her moan of anguish escaped, shockingly loud in the tense silence of her car.

No wonder he was dead. No wonder someone wanted this case. But where had it come from? Her father wasn’t a drug dealer. He wasn’t a criminal. He worked in the insurance industry.

Money laundering?

Oh, God. She knew nothing about that sort of stuff. Could a criminal launder money through an insurance company? And even if they could, why would her father have this briefcase full of money? He wasn’t a crook, he was her father!

She snapped the case closed and shut her eyes. What was she going to do? Opening her eyes, she stared at the parking lot. What would happen if she simply carried the case over to the large trash can sitting several feet away and left it there? The idea was dangerously tempting.

Except, whoever wanted this case wouldn’t stop looking for her just because she’d thrown it away. No matter where she ran, they’d follow. The money made that a certainty.

There had been an envelope. Maybe the contents of the envelope would tell her what to do, how to get this money back where it belonged. She forced her fingers to reopen the case. Lifting the envelope, she turned it over and stared in horror at the bold printing across the front.

Her eyes burned with the need to cry again, but she’d used up all her tears. Too bad she hadn’t used up the fear, as well. It threatened to consume her at the sight of her name.

She should go to the police right now. It would be best if she didn’t even look inside the envelope. But she knew she would. He had been her father, whatever else he may have been. He had brought this briefcase to her apartment for a reason. She owed him a hearing, even in death.

With a heavy heart, Alexis lifted the unsealed envelope flap. On top was a sheet of lined paper, ripped from some sort of notepad.

Darling Alexis,

If you’re reading this note it means I’m in trouble and never got a chance to explain. Hang on to this briefcase. A woman named Kathy can tell you the rest. I don’t remember her last name, but I’m sure she’ll be in touch.

So typical of her father. He could never remember names or details. Kathy might really be Suzy or Betty or something that wasn’t even remotely close to that.

Don’t let anyone know you have this in your possession. I’m sorry to put this onus on you, but I may not have a choice. I’m not sure about the legality of this money. I trusted the wrong person years ago and a lot of people were hurt as a result. It’s too late to make amends to some of them, including you, but I’m going to try. I’m sorry, Alexis. I know I’ve been a lousy father. I wasn’t the best husband, either. Lois deserved so much more than I could give her.

Alexis wiped at her burning eyes. Whatever else had been wrong with his world, her father truly had loved them both.

Saying I’m sorry really doesn’t cut it, but it’s all I can say. I can’t make the past go away or change the decision that we made. I’m a weak man, Alexis. A stronger, better person would have told you the truth a long time ago.

The note was rambling. He must have been drinking when he’d written it. The penmanship was sloppy, but it was definitely her father’s handwriting.

I’m sorry for that, too, but as it turns out, even I didn’t know the truth until recently. I still don’t, at least not all of it. God, I wish I’d told you this in person! Your mother and I couldn’t have children, Alexis.

What? Her heart began to pound as his words burned away her entire life.

Lois wanted a baby desperately, so we applied to adopt. We were told it might take years. You know how much I loved her. I would have given Lois the moon if it had been possible. I knew it would kill her to wait indefinitely, with no certainty that we’d ever get a baby to call our own. Instead, I knew someone who knew of a doctor that might be willing to bend the rules for us. I’m sorry, Alexis, I knew it would be an illegal adoption, but I didn’t care at the time.

She was adopted? It couldn’t be true. It mustn’t be true. Her whole life had been a lie? She wanted to crumple the damning paper in her hand and throw it away, but he’d looked at her through eyes that were dying and had said he’d wished she’d been his.

The paper shook so badly she could barely hold it still enough to continue reading.

The doctor claimed he knew an unwed girl willing to see her baby go to a good home for enough money to go to college and start over. If we could cover his fee and pay the girl, he was willing to take a chance and help us all. I’d like to believe if we’d known the truth, we wouldn’t have gone through with your adoption, but Lois wanted a baby so badly, I don’t know.

What truth? What had he done?

We didn’t ask any questions. We never met your birth mother. You were only a few hours old when the doctor’s nurse placed you in Lois’s arms. You were such a beautiful, perfect little baby girl. I wish you could have seen Lois’s look of joy. It was worth everything. You may not have been our biological child, but we always thought of you that way, you have to believe me. We loved you, Alexis. I loved you. I know I haven’t been there for you since Lois died. I let my grief consume me instead of thinking about you like I should have. It’s too late to make that up to you now. All I can say is I’m sorry, Alexis.

She wiped at the burning tears that slipped down her cheeks. The car was so hot she was suffocating. She turned on the ignition to let the air conditioner run, wiping at her tears until her vision became less blurred.

It wasn’t entirely his fault. She should have tried harder to get him to seek help. If she’d been a better daughter…but she wasn’t really his daughter. The enormity of that was still hard to accept.

Alexis stared at the money. Once again, fear gripped her. Had her father done something awful in an attempt to make things up to her? She gripped the note, fearing the answer it must contain.

I just learned that the doctor who forged your birth certificate was murdered recently. I did some snooping and learned the awful truth. Your real mother never gave you up for adoption, Alexis. I don’t think she even knew you existed.

How was that possible? This made no sense. She didn’t want to read any more. Her father’s words were tearing her world to shreds. How could he not have told her this?

The doctor had been murdered. Now her father had been murdered. If she wasn’t careful, was she the next in line to be killed?

When I realized what that man had done, I was sick. I think if he hadn’t already been dead I’d have been tempted to murder him myself. How could any man, especially a doctor, have no soul? He pulled you from her body and gave you away with no remorse. It still sickens me to think about it. I’ll carry this horror to my grave. I wonder if God will forgive me for my part in this. I guess I’ll know soon enough. I’ve been lying to you, Alexis, about more than just your birth. I know you thought my drinking was simply grief over Lois’s death. And it did start out that way, but the truth is, I’ve been ill for some time now. I’m dying, Alexis. The cancer is inoperable. I didn’t want you to know. The alcohol helps dull the pain.

Shock blurred the words on the page. She pictured how thin he had grown…and knew the words were true. Why hadn’t he told her? Why had he lied and lied and lied to her?

Grief mingled with anger and guilt. He hadn’t been the best father since her mother…since Lois had died, but what sort of daughter had she been? So angry over his drinking and his refusal to get help, she’d stopped paying much attention to him. For a second her eyes closed in grief and self-recriminations. But she had to finish, to know it all. There’d be time for castigation later.

I’ve been trying to make things right as much as I can, but the truth of your real parentage, well, I can’t give you back those years. Not you or your real family. But I’ve gathered together all the proof you should need to convince them of the truth. The only thing is, the more I learn, the more the situation makes me nervous.

Her real family. She had a real family. Why hadn’t he told her this? How could he have let her go on living every day without telling her?

The nurse who brought you to us was there at the cemetery that day.

What cemetery?

I’m pretty sure she saw me. She isn’t going to want you to come forward, Alexis. It’s the last thing she’ll want. What she and that doctor did wasn’t just horrible, it was illegal. She could go to prison. She should go to prison. She’s as guilty as he is. So you’re going to have to be real careful, Alexis. I figure you’ll need help before you go to see your family. The truth is, I’m not sure what sort of a reception you’ll get from any of them. You’re one of the rightful heirs, you see.

No, she didn’t see. She didn’t understand any of this. It was like a bad movie script. How could this be happening?

This envelope contains all the proof you need to claim your birthright. Take it to Ira Rosencroft. He’s an attorney in upstate New York.

This couldn’t be real. Her father had made some horrible mistake. Horrible enough to get him killed.

The town is small. It’s horse country. Stony Ridge, the town is called. I checked around and from what I could learn, Rosencroft has a reputation for being honest. He’s the trustee for Heartskeep, he’ll help you. He has no choice. Just be careful, Alexis. Don’t trust anyone. I wish there had been time for me to do this the right way, but I think my time is running out. I think someone was watching the house today. Maybe I’m getting paranoid, but I’m scared. Not for me. For you. Show Mr. Rosencroft the contents of this packet, but don’t show him this letter and don’t tell him about the money. Don’t tell anyone about the money until you talk to this Kathy. I think you can trust her, Alexis. If she hadn’t found me, I would never have known this much. You’re the best daughter any man could ever want. I know it’s selfish, but I’m glad you were ours. I only wish you had been ours in every way.

The tears she’d thought were used up fell despite her best effort to keep them at bay. She could barely finish the last two lines.

Please don’t think too badly of me. You will always be the daughter of my heart.

Your loving father,

Brian Fitzpatrick Ryder.

For what seemed like a very long time she simply sat there and cried. She tried to make sense of all this, but nothing made sense. Not this rambling note, not the money in the briefcase, and certainly not her father’s death.

He wasn’t her father.

The world she had known had just dissolved.

A car pulled into the lot, alongside hers. She stuffed the letter back inside the briefcase and snapped it shut. The parking lot had filled with cars and people. A young couple sat arguing in the car parked beside her. They didn’t even glance her way, but she couldn’t afford to sit here in plain sight with a briefcase full of money.

Her engine suddenly sputtered and died. The car had finally run out of gas.

With the care reserved for handling fragile items, she lifted the heavy briefcase and got out of her car. She’d never heard of Stony Ridge, and she had only a New York City map in the glove compartment. She’d have to go inside the restaurant to see if she could buy a map. Then she’d have to get the gas can out of her trunk and go to the gas pump to get enough gas to drive her car over to fill it up. And as she trudged through the busy parking lot, one thought kept running through her mind.

How could a woman not know her child existed?

Chapter Two

Wyatt Crossley didn’t like having time on his hands. He understood why his uncle, as chief of police, had no option other than to place him on leave while the shooting of Nolan Ducort was investigated, but Wyatt didn’t have to like it. Stony Ridge had a major murder investigation under way. His investigation.

Unfortunately the Ducort family was politically well-connected and they were demanding answers. He and the two state police officers who’d fired their weapons two nights ago were being forced to wait until ballistics determined which gun had fired the shot that had struck Ducort and the investigators were satisfied that the shooting had been justified.

The outcome wasn’t in question, really, but the three of them had been relieved of their duties until the panel cleared them of any wrongdoing. Wyatt was determined not to let that keep him from conducting some unofficial investigative work.

The bones discovered on the grounds of Heartskeep almost certainly belonged to Amy Hart Thomas. Everyone believed she’d disappeared in New York City seven years ago—everyone except her identical twin daughters. Now it looked as though the twins had been right all along and sloppy police work—specifically, his uncle’s sloppy police work—had let the murderer go undetected for more than seven years.

Leigh and Hayley Thomas had always insisted that their father, Marcus, had killed their mother. Now that Marcus Thomas was dead, there was only one person left who might have the answers to what had really happened seven years ago.

Wyatt frowned as he thought about Eden Voxx Thomas. The R.N. had worked with Dr. Thomas since before his daughters had been born. The obvious scenario for Amy Thomas’s demise would be a love triangle that had ended in murder. But where the Hart family was involved, Wyatt had learned to keep an open mind. Events were seldom as simple as they appeared on the surface.

He hoped finding Eden would solve a big portion of the mystery. The way she’d taken off and disappeared the moment Amy’s body had been discovered implied some prior knowledge of guilt.

His uncle had turned the investigation over to the state police. Stony Ridge didn’t have the manpower or the equipment to deal with a case of such magnitude. Wyatt was the only officer on the small force with a background in criminal investigations. That was why his uncle had assigned him as liaison to the state police. Their forensic team was slowly exhuming the body’s remains while another team concluded a search of the massive estate for possible evidence. Since Wyatt couldn’t continue his role, he figured he’d do some unauthorized investigating on his own.

Eden had tried to remove everything she could carry from the house after her husband’s death. When Amy’s remains had been discovered in the overgrown maze behind the house, Eden had fled, leaving behind a stack of books. Inside those books had been several blackmail notes.

They now knew Marcus had misappropriated more than six hundred thousand dollars from the Heartskeep estate, yet he had died broke. On the surface it appeared he’d stolen the money to pay blackmail demands. But Wyatt was still leery of the obvious. If the auditors that attorney Gavin Jarret had hired were able to match the blackmail demands to the amounts on the forged bills Marcus had submitted on behalf of the estate, maybe Wyatt would be able to tell if Marcus was the one being blackmailed—or the one doing the blackmailing.

Not for the first time Wyatt wished those notes hadn’t been so ambiguous. Not only didn’t they tell him who was being blackmailed, they didn’t give him a clue as to why that someone was being blackmailed.

Wyatt itched to be back at Heartskeep right now, supervising the search of the enormous mansion instead of driving into town looking for Gavin. But he’d already been reprimanded for going back out to Heartskeep the day after shooting Ducort.

Since the estate was off-limits, he’d driven out to the Walken estate this morning. Being their closest neighbors, and Gavin’s former foster parents, Emily and George Walken had opened their home to the twins and Gavin. Unfortunately, Wyatt had made the trek out there for nothing. Only the Walkens’ housekeeper had been present. Nan had informed him that everyone had left, planning to stay elsewhere until the media frenzy died down.

The day had been a fruitless waste of time so far. With any luck Gavin had gone to his office to supervise the audit. Otherwise, Wyatt was going to find himself twiddling his thumbs most of the afternoon.

Parking was at a premium in town. The only spot open was in front of the remains of the dry-cleaning shop and what had once been Gavin’s rented apartment above. The burned-out shell of a building was a silent reminder of how far a person would go to keep a secret. Wyatt wondered how far Eden would go.

He climbed out of his car into the hot, muggy air and wiped at the beads of sweat that immediately formed on his forehead. June was setting records, both for high temperatures and an unusual number of fierce summer storms. Stony Ridge had been fairly lucky so far. Located far enough north of New York City to sit high over the Hudson River, temperatures were generally milder here and the storms tended to give them more of a glancing blow.

Striding down the street, he exchanged greetings with several people without slowing down. The Hart family and Heartskeep had been a source of conversation for the locals since the day the first Hart had set foot in Stony Ridge. The town already hummed with gossip and speculation about the body and recent events at the estate. Wyatt wasn’t about to add to the fodder.

As he neared the narrow brick building that housed the law offices of Rosencroft and Associates, luck finally beamed a smile his way. Leigh—or Hayley?—Thomas stood on the sidewalk out front clutching an oversize briefcase to her chest.

Having met the twins several times now, he was surprised by an unexpected twist of physical awareness when he first caught sight of her. They were attractive young women, but neither of them had ever sent his pulses leaping in anticipation before. Of course, he’d never really seen one of them alone before. Hayley was rarely without Bram Myers at her side. She’d staked a clear claim on the rugged blacksmith and he seemed perfectly content to be claimed—even if her wealth was still an issue between them.

Wyatt decided this must be Leigh. She and Gavin had seemed pretty tight, and he certainly couldn’t blame his friend. Wyatt was struck by the way her chin-length hair shimmered more gold than brown beneath the unrelenting noon sun. The twins were slender, attractive women with identical heart-shaped faces and delicate bone structures. But exhaustion tugged at her expressive features, bowing the graceful arch of her neck.

He shouldn’t be noticing his buddy’s lady this way, but it was hard not to. She had surprisingly long, graceful legs for such a petite woman. And there was definitely something appealing about the way she stood there in her wilted, bright green-and-white blouse and trim navy skirt. The outfit was hardly provocative, but it did show her figure to good advantage.

She turned away from the building and caught him staring. His chagrin was forgotten when haunted blue eyes regarded him with no trace of recognition. Wyatt took a chance on the name.

“Leigh? Is something wrong?”

A stupid question given the current circumstances. No purse, he noticed, but she clutched the large, scuffed briefcase against her chest. Stained and battered, the case wasn’t the sort of accessory he’d associate with a Hart. He set that thought aside as his attention was drawn back to those wide, crystal-blue eyes. Fatigue mixed with sorrow dulled them—a painful reminder that his “case” was her mother’s death.

Wyatt closed the distance between them. “Is Gavin inside?” He nodded toward the door at her back.

Her forlorn expression changed to one of confusion. Her gaze flicked toward the building and back to his face, sliding away quickly.

“The office is closed.”

Her soft voice came out flat and empty. He barely controlled the impulse that started his hand in the direction of her slim, bare arm.

“Has something else happened?”

A flash of fear came and went so fast he wasn’t positive it was what he’d seen.

“Excuse me,” she said more firmly. “I have to go.”

Her reaction was all wrong. So was her appearance. Where was Gavin? Or her sister, for that matter? Leigh shouldn’t be out here alone. She looked like someone running on empty.

Wyatt blocked her path and nodded at the case. “Are those your grandfather’s files?”

Her knuckles whitened as she hugged the awkward case more tightly to her chest.

“I have to go,” she repeated.

He touched her shoulder, stopping her. She raised startled eyes to his. The tip of her tongue touched her lips. The nervous gesture was not the least bit erotic yet it made him sharply aware of her as a woman.

She took a quick step back. Wyatt let his hand fall to his side. Her wary expression made him frown.

She raised her face. “What is it you want?” she demanded.

Several totally inappropriate answers sprang to mind. What the devil was wrong with him? This was Leigh. He was almost positive it was Leigh. While he barely knew the twins, Hayley’s ability to put a man in his place was legendary.

“I’m not your enemy.”

“Glad to hear it. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

“Can we talk?”

“Another time. I have to go.”

“Where?”

The question stopped her. For an instant she stared at him in consternation. He would have sworn there was a hint of desperation, even fear, in those expressive eyes. Something was wrong here.

“Let me pass.”

Her voice was still firm.

“I could make the request official.”

Definitely a lick of fear.

“What do you mean?”

His conscience gave a guilty twist. Her vulnerable expression was getting to him. The last thing he wanted was to make her afraid.

“I know we haven’t met under the best of circumstances, but I’m not my uncle, Leigh. I’m on your side.”

She inhaled visibly. Watching her marshal her mental defenses took only a split second, but it revealed quite a bit about her. Leigh would face whatever life tossed at her. He should have known that from the way she’d handled herself when Ducort had threatened to kill her. Still, his admiration went up another notch as she raised her chin another notch and held his gaze.

“What side would that be, exactly?”

Mentally he applauded the challenge. “Let me buy you a cup of coffee and we can discuss it.”

“It’s ninety-eight degrees out here.”

“Good point.” He offered her a wry smile. “How about an iced tea instead?”

“Thanks, but I have to go…home.”

The catch in her voice gave him another glimpse of her vulnerability. Wyatt shook his head. “I’m assuming you don’t mean home to Boston, but if you mean to the Walken estate, I just came from there. Nan said everyone left to avoid the media. They’re still camped out in front of both estates. And if you meant Heartskeep, the state police haven’t finished their investigation yet.”

Panic flared in her expression. While she had plenty of reason to distrust the police, panic made no sense. Yet she looked ready to bolt.

“One drink,” he said gently. “Better yet, what about an ice-cream cone?”

“Ice cream?”

She formed the words as if they were foreign to her. Her eyes skimmed the street—searching for a way to escape? What the devil was going on? He’d take bets it had something to do with her death grip on that case.

This didn’t seem like a good time to remind her of the talk they were supposed to have about the events surrounding her mother’s disappearance.

“Ice cream,” he said calmly. “You know, that frozen stuff that melts on your tongue when you lick it.”

Her eyes widened. He hadn’t meant a sexual connotation, but even to him the words came out sounding that way.

“I can’t.”

“We don’t have to talk, Leigh,” he coaxed gently. “I told you I’d make an appointment for that. I’d just like some company right now. I’m not used to having nothing to do all day.”

She stared at him blankly.

Tempted to explain his temporary suspension, he decided it was better not to remind her of the events of the other night. She’d come far too close to being killed as it was.

“We could drive out to Golden’s, grab a cone and come right back.”

She was shaking her head back and forth even before he finished.

“You could call Gavin and invite him to come with us,” he added.

“No!”

Instant and vehement. So there was some sort of problem between them. A lovers’ spat? He’d never realized his friend was an idiot. Wyatt shouldn’t have liked the fleeting notion that maybe their relationship wasn’t what he’d thought.

“I don’t want to talk to Gavin right now,” she amended quickly. “I’m not… I don’t feel like talking to anyone right now.”

That was pointed enough, but he wasn’t about to let her go when she was so obviously upset.

“Then we won’t talk,” he agreed. “But let’s get out of this sun before we fry.”

She studied his face. Wyatt was relieved when, after a moment’s hesitation, she fell into step beside him. Despite this unexpected jolt of attraction to her, he had no intention of encroaching on his friend’s relationship with Leigh. This was strictly business. He was a cop with a case to solve, and the contents of that briefcase were of major interest to him. He’d keep things light and impersonal. Once he gained her trust, he’d ask her about the case.

Of course, gaining her trust would be the hard part.

ALEXIS WONDERED if she’d taken leave of her senses. Going anywhere with this incredibly handsome stranger was pure folly, yet she’d taken one look into those warm brown eyes and felt an instant connection to this man. The impact had rattled her more than she cared to admit. He wasn’t breathtakingly handsome, but he was the sort of man a woman would always notice.

What on earth had possessed her to let him believe she was someone else?

Because it had seemed the quickest way to get rid of him. Obviously that had been a big mistake on her part. What would he do if she told him she had no idea who Leigh or Gavin were? Or him, either, for that matter?

The thought was dangerously tempting. She was so tired she couldn’t seem to think past her fear and exhaustion. Her father’s note had told her to come here for answers, only there were no answers for her here. Ira Rosencroft was dead.

Alexis had wanted to ask the woman inside how he’d died, but a man had come out of an office to ask a question. Maybe this Gavin person. The receptionist or whoever she’d been had asked the man to wait while she offered Alexis an appointment to see a Mr. Jarret next week.

Alexis declined. Her father’s note had said not to trust anyone except the lawyer and someone named Kathy. But when she had asked the woman if a Kathy worked there, the woman had shaken her head. With the man standing there waiting, Alexis had thanked her and left. Now she didn’t know what to do.

An uneven bit of pavement sent her stumbling. The man beside her had a firm, strong grip as he took her bare arm to keep her from falling. His touch reinforced her vibrant awareness of him. Under other circumstances, she might have welcomed the unexpected reaction. As it was, she wished he’d go away and let her think.

“Easy, there.”

His voice was soothing to nerves that felt stretched far too tight.

“Why don’t you let me carry that case for you?”

Panic lifted her eyes to his. “No!”

Instantly his expression changed. What was the matter with her? She’d overreacted, made him curious. Calling his attention to the briefcase like that had been stupid. He’d already expressed an interest in the contents. If he saw all that money…

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that. I haven’t had much sleep and my nerves are a little shot right now,” she told him truthfully.

His expression relaxed. Her stomach gave a funny little lurch at the compassion in his eyes.

“I know,” he told her. “It’s okay. Come on. I’m parked right over here.”

There was nothing for it but to resume walking. The kindness in his warm brown eyes was dangerous. Dangerous, because she wanted to trust him. She was so tired. So scared. Grief had vied with fear all night long. She’d taken a room at a motel right off the highway last night and had lain sleeplessly, going over and over her father’s death, wondering what she could have done differently.

The half cup of coffee she’d managed to swallow this morning was still burning a hole in her stomach lining. It was so hard to think.

Her roommate was in California for the week, which meant that no one had yet discovered her father’s body.

Except his killers.

She shouldn’t have run. She should have stayed and called the police. She nearly had called more than once last night. But each time she’d reached for the telephone, fear had stilled her hand. The police would have questions. Alexis didn’t have answers.

She’d thought if she talked to this Mr. Rosencroft first, everything would make sense. But if he was dead, too, she didn’t know where to go next. Had he been murdered, as well?

Her father had said his killers would come after her next. He’d been right. But who were they? What was she supposed to do with all this money?

Her companion stopped at a car parked in front of a fire-gutted building. Alexis had noticed the burned-out remains earlier on her way into town. He opened the passenger door of the trim black sedan and began stacking several files sitting on the seat.

This was insane. What was she doing, getting in a car with a total stranger? Only a fool would do something so stupid. She wasn’t a stupid person. Yet she had no desire to turn and run in the opposite direction.

He cleared the passenger seat of papers and folders, dumping everything on the back seat, which was already littered with other items.

“Sorry. I’m afraid I’ve been using the car as something of a spare closet.”

His embarrassment was sort of reassuring. Tall and lean, with a thick head of dark, curling hair, he had an easygoing manner that offered her frazzled nerves a false sense of security. There was confidence and a sense of strength about him. More important, he knew things. Things she desperately needed to know.

Who was Leigh? Undoubtedly related to her if they looked enough alike to be mistaken for one another. Stony Ridge did have answers after all. So did this man. All she had to do was to ask the right questions.

Alexis hesitated, debating her options. She glanced at the building behind her. A smoky scent lingered in the heavy, humid air. The fire must have burned hot and furious, because the insides had been destroyed with savage completeness.

“You and Gavin were lucky the other night,” he said in a hard tone of voice. “If you’d been upstairs when that gas line blew…”

Upstairs? She raised her eyes and realized there had been living quarters above the shop. The thought that anyone might have been inside was horrifying.

“You want to toss your briefcase back here?” he asked, dismissing both the fire and the building.

Should she go with him or stay here?

He waited calmly, as if he sensed her indecision. There was nothing remotely threatening in his manner. She liked that he was giving her time to decide. But when it came right down to it, she had nowhere else to go.

Alexis handed him the heavy case. He set it on the back seat without a word about its weight and stepped back, holding the door open for her.

The car was low. Her skirt scooted up her thigh as she sat. She felt his stare as she struggled to pull it into place. If his expression had been the least bit lecherous, she’d have been out of the car instantly, but his gaze held only a masculine appreciation she might have enjoyed if things had been different.

Watching him stride around to the driver’s side, Alexis had all sorts of time for second and third thoughts. Going anywhere with this vibrant stranger was a really stupid thing to do. He thought she was someone named Leigh. How long could she maintain the pretense before he saw through the sham? She wasn’t up to this. Heck, she didn’t even know who she was anymore.

He offered her a smile as he slid behind the wheel. Her clenched muscles began to relax. The man had a breathtaking smile.

“I’m afraid it’ll take a second or two for the air conditioner to put out anything like cool air. Jezzy here isn’t up to dealing with this sort of heat.”

“You named your car?”

His grin widened unselfconsciously. “Blame it on my mother. She and my sisters always named our cars. I guess I picked up the habit.”

There was something rather endearing about that, which was ridiculous. So what if the man had a mother and sisters? Even serial killers had family.

“Jezzy?” she asked nervously.

“Short for Jezebelle. You’ll notice the faded leather seats and all the fancy dashboard equipment. At one time this girl was loaded with all the extras, flashy and pretentious for such a cheaply made little car. When I found her on the used car lot, she reminded me of an abandoned harlot, past her prime but determined to make the best of what she still had.”

“Oh.”

He chuckled, a warm rumbly sound that was as oddly soothing as the man himself.

“Don’t worry about it. My family thinks I’m a little nuts, too, but it isn’t contagious.”

“Too bad.”

He tilted his head. Alexis squirmed. “I just meant that it’s a nice sort of nuts to be.” That grin of his was dangerously disarming.

“Thanks.”

Alexis looked away quickly. The man gave a whole other meaning to the words “perfect stranger.” She was suddenly all too aware of how rumpled she looked. She’d done the best she could this morning considering she’d had no fresh clothing and only the contents of her purse to work with. She’d only wanted to look presentable when she spoke with the lawyer. Now she wished she’d taken the time to stop and buy a clean outfit. There was nothing she could do about it at the moment, but she’d noticed a dress shop in town. She’d go there as soon as they returned. Hopefully the prices wouldn’t be too outrageous. Her bank account was a little slim these days.

With a start, she realized he’d spoken to her again. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I just said you look tired.”

“I am tired.” A gross understatement. Alexis closed her eyes in despair.

“It’s going to be okay, Leigh.”

Her eyes flew open. Who was Leigh? Cousin? Sister? Aunt?

“Look, I don’t mean to be rude—”

“You aren’t being rude. You’re tired. You’ve been through a lot in the past few days.”

Startled, she inhaled sharply. How did he know?

Puzzled concern creased his forehead. He didn’t know, she realized. He’d meant this Leigh person had been through a lot in the past few days. He’d said the woman could have been inside the burned-out shell of that building back in town. It was simply an unnerving coincidence that this Leigh person had been through an ordeal, as well.

“Hey, how does a milk shake sound? Chocolate? Vanilla? One of the more exotics?”

A milk shake? Somehow she couldn’t get her mind to focus on something so mundane. She was pretty sure she wasn’t going to be able to swallow a single sip anyhow.

“Surprise me.”

“Okay, but I like the exotics, myself. Some of those candy-flavored ones are dangerously addictive, you know.”

It was impossible not to return that smile, even if hers felt weak and distant. She suspected candy-flavored milk shakes weren’t the only things potentially addictive around here. Why couldn’t someone like this have been her roommate’s cousin instead of Seth?

Golden’s Ice Cream turned out to be a drive-up place in the middle of nowhere. Yet, judging from the number of cars clustered around the parking lot, being in the middle of nowhere wasn’t a drawback. A scattering of picnic tables sat in a grove of trees off to one side and all of them held people.

“Do you want to come with me or stay here while I get us something?” he asked.

“I’d rather stay.”

He opened all the windows before stepping out of the car. “You sure you won’t get too hot waiting for me?”

“I’ll try to contain myself.”

He winced in consternation as he realized how his question had come out.

“I meant, try not to melt before I get back, okay?”

That dredged a genuine smile from her. “You’d better quit while you’re ahead.”

“I think you’re right. I’ll be right back.”

She liked him. Not only was he extremely good-looking, he was a genuinely nice guy, as well. She watched him stride toward the long line of customers waiting under the awning for service. More than one person called out a greeting as he passed.

“Hey, Wyatt!”

“Wyatt! Are we still playing ball tomorrow?”

“That’s the plan, but if we get more rain, we may need snorkels.”

His name was Wyatt and he played ball. She tossed the name around in her head. Unusual, but it suited him. Alexis could picture him as gunslinger in the Old West. Tall and loose-limbed, Wyatt had an athletic body that moved with a comfortable grace. Yet there was a sense of barely restrained energy about him. Wyatt never seemed to just walk. He strode with a sense of purpose, a sense of power. Like his namesake, the role of sheriff would suit him. Wyatt was the sort of man people looked up to, a natural leader.

What was the matter with her? She had no business sitting here thinking about some stranger, no matter how appealing he might be. She was in real trouble. She needed to stop thinking about Wyatt and to start planning a course of action.

Alexis leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. How could she plan a course of action when she lacked the most basic information? She was out of her depth and so exhausted she could barely think at all.

“Leigh? Wake up, Leigh.”

The low, warm voice seeped through the barrier of half-sleep to stir her conscious mind awake. Alexis forced her heavy lids apart. For a second she had no idea where she was or why this incredible stranger was bending over her.

“I know you’re tired, but it’s too hot to sit in the car. I appropriated one of the tables in the shade. It may not feel all that much cooler, but the ice cream should help.”

Loggy, she stared at his handsome features. Her fingers started a quest toward the strong line of his jaw.

“Hey, you awake?”

She lowered her hand, confused. “I’m not sure,” she admitted.

He reached across her to unfasten her seat belt. Awareness tightened her nipples as his bare arm brushed her chest. He pretended not to notice, stepping back and extending his hand to her. Her body responded as if it was a different sort of invitation altogether.

His large, warm hand enveloped hers, making her feel small and delicate and surprisingly feminine. For a dizzy, disorienting second, their gazes locked. She came out of the car and swayed slightly.

“Easy, there,” he said.

Anticipation rippled through her. He released her hand and stepped back quickly.

“Why don’t you go over and have a seat? I’ll grab our stuff and be right with you.”

He’d felt it, too. His eyes had reflected the same spark of awareness that had sprung to life inside her, tightening her belly and making her aware of him on a sensual level she’d never experienced before.

What was she thinking?

Shaken, Alexis turned away and started across the parking lot. This was crazy. She was so exhausted that her mind was playing dangerous games with her. If she didn’t get control she was going to make an utter fool of herself.

Relieved to see that the empty table he’d indicated was near the edge of the treeline, she headed there quickly. Several people nodded greetings as she passed. A few offered sympathetic smiles. Thankfully no one approached, wanting to talk. She sat quickly with her back to the other tables and hoped no one would.

Wyatt had said he didn’t know Leigh very well. That was the only reason she’d gotten away with her masquerade so far. She’d never be able to maintain the pretense with anyone who really knew this Leigh person.

When he joined her a few minutes later she had her reckless emotions under control. Until Wyatt set down a tray full of food on the table.

“What is all that?”

“Lunch.”

“You said ice cream.”

“Yes, ma’am. Best milk shakes in the state.” He placed an enormous paper cup full of thick liquid in front of her.

“I can’t drink all this.”

“They make great hamburgers, too. I figured we could share the fries.”

Alexis stared at the thick hamburger in dismay. “But I’m…” On the verge of telling him she was a vegetarian, she stopped. Leigh might not be a vegetarian. That was something Wyatt might know about the woman.

“When did you eat last?” he demanded.

Her mind went blank. “I don’t—”

“That’s what I thought. You look like a stiff wind would blow you away. One bite. Please, Leigh?”

She looked at the hamburger, then at the determined set of his strong, firm jaw. “Could I start with a French fry?”

He offered her another of those devastating grins. “Help yourself.”

She was sure she wouldn’t be able to swallow the thick, chewy potato, but at the first taste, her stomach let her know it had other ideas. She hadn’t known she was hungry, but she was. The milk shake was so thick she needed a spoon, and true to his word, there were chunks of candy blended into the mix. The cold ice cream tasted even better than the French fry.

“Oops. Forgot the napkins. Let me return the tray and grab some. I’ll be right back.”

As Wyatt headed toward the building, Alexis quickly tore the meat from between the bun and tossed it into the underbrush nearby. With all the lettuce and tomatoes, maybe he wouldn’t notice. She picked up the bun and bit into it. Her stomach eagerly accepted that offering, as well.

Wyatt returned, looking slightly more subdued.

“The Krolberths asked me to offer their condolences. I told them you weren’t up to talking with anyone right now.”

Alexis swallowed quickly. “Thank you.”

Wyatt nodded and took a bite from his sandwich. For several seconds they ate in silence. She studied him covertly. Her instincts said she could trust him, and she needed to tell someone the truth.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Her head jerked up. Her heart hammered against her rib cage. Had he just read her mind?

“Talk about what?”

“You could tell me what’s bothering you,” he said, “or we could start with your mother’s murder.”

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