“I don’t want to break your heart.”

She figured it could have been the champagne; or maybe it was the confidence that came with knowing she was desired by a most desirable man. But whatever the reason, she cocked her head to one side and said, “Have you considered that maybe I might break yours?”

She watched as that crooked grin of his made an appearance. “Touché. A real possibility,” he said, and stepped into the living room.

The minute Will was in her home, something inside Lou underwent a drastic change. Suddenly that romantic bubble in which she’d been submerged burst, and she was in the real world again.

This, tonight, it was real. It was going to happen. She was going to get naked and make love to Will Jamison.

Whispers and Lies
Diane Pershing

www.millsandboon.co.uk

DIANE PERSHING

For more years than she cares to disclose, Diane Pershing made her living as an actress and singer. She was extremely contented in these professions, except for one problem—there was way too much downtime, and she worried that her brain was atrophying. So she took up pen and paper and began writing, first for television, then as a movie critic, then as a novelist.

Her first novel, Sultry Whispers, following the dictum to “write what you know,” was about a voiceover actress who battled the male-dominated mind-set of advertising agencies. There have been fifteen more sales since. Diane is happy to report that there is no more downtime in her life; indeed, with writing and acting—and teaching classes in both—she now faces the dilemma of not having enough time, which she says is a quality problem indeed. She loves to hear from readers, so please write to her at P.O. Box 67424, Los Angeles, CA 90067 or online at diane@dianepershing.com. You can also visit Diane’s Web site at www.dianepershing.com.

To Dr. Lilli Forbrich, DVM, a woman who is both kind and strong.

You are my hero. The world is a better place for your presence in it.

And to my son, Benjamin Russell Pershing, journalist.

Thanks for all the insider stuff on our country’s capital, not to mention twenty-nine years of joy, since the day of your birth.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Prologue

Today

And I write all this now so if something happens to me, something suspicious, it will serve to set the authorities on the right path. Perhaps I am a coward; still, it is my fondest wish that what I have recounted here will never be seen. There are too many secrets that could harm too many innocent people. But if it is read, I will be gone, and so I leave the living to make their own decisions and to find their own peace.

Rita Conlon

Hot tears streaking her cheeks, Lou read the final sentence several times. Then she closed the diary that contained the answers to so many questions, some she’d had all her life and some she’d never even known to ask until just a few days ago. It also raised some new ones.

She shook her head, murmuring, “My father is a monster.”

The only other living creature in the room, her newly adopted kitten Anthony, raised his head up from her lap and gave her a golden-eyed blink. Absently, Lou scratched around the kitten’s ears and stared into the fireplace. She wished the fire could warm her. Even though an early summer storm raged outside her windows, it wasn’t really cold; still, she was chilled through and through.

What she’d spoken aloud was the truth, and it hurt; her father was, at minimum, an amoral and egocentric human being. It was also possible that he had, quite literally, gotten away with murder.

And now she had to decide just what to do about that.

She reached for her martini glass and took a sip, hoping the clear liquid would make its way down to her stomach and accomplish what the fire didn’t seem to be able to. Oh, how Will would love to get his hands on this diary, Lou thought. He would probably sell his soul for it.

If he had a soul left.

Will.

Just the thought of him brought up another kind of pain, this one tinged with bitterness. Other women didn’t seem to have her rotten luck with the male sex; why did she keep choosing the ones who proved to be untrustworthy?

Cut it out, warned an inner voice, one that had been keeping tabs on her emotional state all her life, it seemed. Lou was dangerously close to self-pity and she hated that quality in anyone. She was alive. She was free from want. She had many blessings—a good career, lots of friends, good health…

A sudden noise snapped her out of her musings. It was faint at first, barely audible over the percussive sound of raindrops beating hard against windows and on the roof shingles above her. It was a whining sound, and it came from the floor below, which housed her veterinary clinic. They were currently boarding five dogs and one of them, Boris, was just recovering from surgery. Alonzo was on overnight duty—he’d begged for the extra hours to help his growing family.

The whining noise came again, louder now, followed by a yelp of pain. Human pain, this time.

Lou stood, slightly off balance from the martini. Her heart rate began to speed up. What was going on? Where was Alonzo? She raced to the hallway, pulled open the door that led to the inside staircase connecting the clinic below and the living quarters upstairs. Dashing down the stairway, she called out, “Alonzo?”

There was no answer. She pushed through the door at the bottom and stopped dead in her tracks. Alonzo lay on the floor, unconscious, blood pouring from a wound on his forehead. Next to him was Mr. Hyde, a Doberman pinscher, lying on one side. Dead or unconscious, she didn’t know.

Standing over them both was a patrician-looking, silver-haired man she’d met for the first time just recently. He was pointing a gun at her, aimed at her chest. The look in his eye was hard and cold.

The man was her father.

And she had no doubts, none at all, that in a matter of minutes, seconds maybe, she would be dead.

Chapter 1

Friday, thirteen days earlier

“Whatever you do, don’t grab her, Martha!” Lou called out to the new trainee. Martha was trying to snatch the yowling, hissing, full-grown feline who, having escaped the exam room, was currently leaping over the high reception counter. “She hasn’t had her shots yet!”

“Come here, you little—” Alonzo, appearing from the hallway behind Lou, muttered something in Spanish that was most probably not a blessing, and, net in hand, lunged at the escaped cat. He missed and had to catch himself on the edge of the desk before he took a header.

In the meantime the cat had leaped from the top of the counter and through the open upper half of the Dutch door to the dog waiting room; now she was desperately flitting from chair to chair, from shelf to shelf, looking for a safe place to perch. Unfortunately, she’d set every canine in the room—and there were several, as the clinic owned and operated by Louise McAndrews, DVM, was the most popular one in Susanville, New York—to howling and barking.

Sheer pandemonium, Lou thought to herself, as she remained calm in the middle of the storm. Just the way she liked it. She leaned her elbows on the half door’s rim and grinned.

“Listen up, everyone,” she said cheerfully to the dogs’ owners, “not to worry. The cat is new to civilization. We just caught her and some of her babies this morning, so she’s much more scared of you than you are of her. Hold tight to those leashes, stay where you are and we’ll get her in no time.”

She turned to the pudgy, brown-skinned, highly irritated man holding the net. “Okay, Alonzo, go around the other way, through the hallway to Room Three and open the door to the waiting room. Teeny,” she called to a huge, bald-headed man dressed in one of the clinic’s puppy-patterned coats, “you go in this way—” she pointed to the half door she was leaning on “—then surround her and force her into Room Three. I’m going to close this upper door now.” She waved. “Everyone else, sit tight and watch the show.”

Less than a minute later, the feral rescue cat had been trapped in the adjoining examination room and the huge net had been thrown over her head; as had been intended, the cat’s subsequent scrambling for freedom had gotten her all tangled up in the netting. Now, imprisoned and unable to fight her human captors, she had no choice but to lie inert, still spitting, while Lou injected her with a combination of sedatives and disease-preventing serums. In no time at all, the poor exhausted thing was snoring away.

Lou thanked her staff, then pulled open the door to the dog waiting room and walked through it toward the reception area, smiling as she did. “Hey, everybody, thanks for the co-operation. You can tell your dogs that the mean, nasty kitty can’t hurt them now. She’s asleep.”

As a few appreciative chuckles greeted her news, her gaze swept the room and lingered briefly on one of the owners, a tall man wearing dark wraparound sunglasses. He seemed vaguely familiar. But she was too busy and way too tired to place him, or to even spend another second on it. Her appointment schedule was booked to overflow capacity and she had to reserve her strength for the hours ahead.

Squaring her narrow shoulders, she smiled at the head receptionist. “Okay, Dorothy, start sending in the troops.”

Three quick-but-thorough appointments later, Lou was in Room Four when the man in the sunglasses was shown in, dragging at the leash of a snorting, highly reluctant pug. From her position on the other side of the examination table, Lou glanced down at the dog, then at the chart and smiled. Of course. Her friend Nancy Jamison’s dog, Oscar.

Now Lou raised her gaze to check out the human holding the leash. Most definitely not Nancy. Wrong height, wrong sex. The man removed his glasses and offered a broad, confident, white-toothed smile, one that tilted up a little more on the right side.

Her heart thudded to a halt. Her eyes widened. “Will?”

He seemed amused by her shock. “Yes, Lou, it’s me. Or are you called Louise now that you’re all grown-up?”

She shook her head slowly. “No, it’s still Lou. Gosh, I thought you looked familiar.”

There went that crooked grin again, and her heart skipped yet one more beat.

“That was quite a show out there,” he said, yanking his thumb in the direction of the waiting room. “I’m impressed. And is the cat really asleep, or is she, you know, euphemistically asleep?”

“We try not to kill our rescue animals,” she said dryly. “She’s had her shots and she’s resting comfortably.”

“Well, good for her.”

Lou couldn’t seem to stop staring at him, at this tall, black-haired, green-eyed man with a face to die for and who had starred in so very many of her dreams so very long ago. He hadn’t shaved yet this morning, and the dark beard stubble only added to his roguish good looks. He wore a dark T-shirt and well-worn jeans that revealed a lean body with defined upper and lower arm muscles, broad shoulders and chest, slim hips and long legs.

If she’d been a Saint Bernard, there would have been drool dripping from the side of her mouth.

Which was not only a singularly unattractive image, but if she didn’t stop gawking at the man, she would make an utter fool of herself, not for the first time where Will Jamison was concerned. “So,” she said brightly, “you must be in town for Nancy’s wedding.”

He made a face. “I was threatened that if I didn’t come, I was out of the family for good.”

“Well, threat or no, it’s good to see you,” she said, then decided to get down to business. “I see you have Oscar today. Lift him up on the table, please, and then tell me what’s his problem.”

If Will had noticed her ogling him or her discomfort, it wasn’t apparent, thank God. He picked up the wheezing animal and set him down in front of Lou. “Nancy says he’s been scratching himself like crazy since yesterday.”

“Ah.” As she donned her rubber gloves, she observed the raised bumps on the animal’s body. “Hives,” she said, then checked Oscar’s eyes and ears, looked into his mouth. “An allergic reaction of some sort. Pugs are prone to this kind of thing, poor babies.”

As she spoke, she was aware that Will was paying attention. Really close attention. And not to the dog. He was staring at her, actually, like she had stared at him moments ago.

After a while, it became unnerving. She looked up, met his green-eyed gaze. “Um, you’re looking at me funny.”

“Huh?”

“It’s like you’re studying me. What’s up?”

He didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed, just smiled enough to make the corners of his emerald-colored eyes crinkle and for that little thudding in her heart to crank up again. “You’ve changed.”

“We all have.”

“Not as much as you.”

A twist of annoyance at this obvious reference to her weight loss made her want to snap back with something cutting and smart-ass. Instead, she chose mildly sardonic diplomacy. “You’re referring to the fact that I used to be, shall we say, a bit heavier?”

“Used to be being the operative phrase.”

“Up until a few months ago, I was still just as chubby as ever, trust me.”

“Oh? Recent diet?”

“Recent death.”

He winced. “Sorry.”

Immediate guilt assailed her. The poor man hadn’t deserved that one. Lou shook her head. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry, Will. I was being flip.” A sudden tightening in her throat made her swallow before she added, “I lost my mom.”

But Will Jamison already knew about Janice McAndrews’s death. It was one of the main reasons he was here at the clinic this morning. A fact of which Dr. Lou was ignorant and, he hoped, would remain so.

Which had nothing to do with the fact that it didn’t sit well with him to pretend he hadn’t heard the news. “Yeah, my condolences. Nancy mentioned it but I just read about it in the Courier.”

“Just? It happened a couple of months ago.”

“I was a little behind.”

She smiled briefly. “So, you get the hometown paper in D.C.?”

“Are you kidding? My sister, the managing editor, sends it to me every week. Then I let them pile up until I have time to read them. I’m so sorry about your mother, Lou. Really.”

She waved it away. “Don’t be. Nancy gave Mom a real nice write-up.”

She went back to attending to the dog, filling a needle and explaining that she was injecting him with both an antihistamine and an anti-inflammatory. He understood that the subject of her mother was closed, for the moment, anyway. He’d rather it stayed open, but he couldn’t push. Not now, anyway. Which was fine because, for some reason, he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away from her.

It wasn’t only about the weight loss, which was substantial. Some people dropped twenty-five, thirty pounds and it didn’t make that much difference. With Lou, it was night and day. She’d gone from being kind of chunky to downright slender. Petite. Modest but definite womanly curves outlined a delicate bone structure previously hidden. And sure, he really liked looking at the change—who wouldn’t?

But that wasn’t the main reason he found her so fascinating. It was that with her now-prominent cheekbones and overall thinner face, she bore a remarkable resemblance to Lincoln DeWitt’s daughter Gretchen, whom he’d interviewed at length for a series of articles he’d been hired to write for the New York Times Magazine. “Brothers Gone Bad” would profile the black sheep siblings—living and deceased—of famous men. Billy Carter and Roger Clinton were on the list, but Senator Jackson DeWitt’s younger brother Lincoln—a party guy who was heavily into alcohol, failed businesses and ex-wives—was to be the first subject in the series.

As surreptitiously as possible, Will examined Lou some more. Sure, she was a couple of years older, had brown eyes instead of hazel, but still, the uncanny resemblance to Gretchen was there. They were both short, barely five feet. There was that full head of unruly red hair—Lou’s a shade darker. The wide-bridged but small nose. The sprinkling of freckles on high, rounded cheeks, the fair skin. Yes, sir. He’d make book on it: he was looking at none other than Lincoln DeWitt’s daughter, which would make her Gretchen’s sister or half sister.

He wondered if Lou knew it. Or even if Gretchen and Lincoln knew it.

“What’s going on, Will?”

“Huh?” Lou’s question snapped him out of his reverie.

She was frowning at him, a crease between her pale brows, one hand on her hip, the other massaging Oscar’s shoulder where she’d just injected him. “You’re staring at me again. Inspecting me, like I’m a specimen under a microscope. And well, it’s kind of unnerving.”

“Oh. Sorry,” he said again, then scrubbed a hand over his face. “Not enough sleep, I guess.”

“When did you get in?”

“Really late last night.”

“Okay then, you’re forgiven,” she said with a smile, one that lit up her face.

Having finished with her canine patient, she peeled off the gloves and tossed them into a disposal container, then made some notes on her chart. Oscar remained on the table, as usual wiggling, snorting and wheezing. Will knew the noises the dog made were normal for pugs but he’d never gotten used to them; they reminded him of some creature, half human, half monster, and with a deviated septum, having a really bad dream.

“I’d like him to have a hypoallergenic bath, okay?” Lou told him.

“Whatever you say.”

She opened the door behind her. “Teeny? Come here and get Oscar, will you?”

When the assistant appeared, she handed the dog to him, murmuring all kinds of medical-sounding terms before Teeny, an ironic nickname if ever there was one, took the perpetually disgruntled-looking animal away. Then Lou turned back to Will, picked up the chart again and said, “Come back about three this afternoon to pick him up. And I need to see him in a couple of weeks for a follow-up. You can take care of the bill out front. Good to see you again, Will.”

Briskly, she headed for the door, but stopped when he called out, “Lou?”

“Yes?”

“It was good seeing you, too.”

She turned, nodded briefly, then put her hand on the doorknob.

“Really good,” he added. “In fact, I’m wondering if maybe…” He let the sentence trail off, not quite sure how to proceed.

The truth was, he’d suspected there was some link between Lou’s late mother and Lincoln, but hadn’t expected the link to be shared parentage…of Lou. What that might mean intrigued him. It could lead to something juicy for the series of articles.

There was another truth, though, and that concerned the effect Lou was having on him. He hadn’t expected this little side effect of the visit, not at all. However, he liked the feeling, liked it a lot. She did something to his insides.

Despite the recent loss of her mother, Lou was basically an upbeat kind of person, always had been. She possessed an all-too-rare quality, an inner fire, something that affirmed the possibilities of the joy that life offered. This contradicted what Will had been experiencing lately in covering the world and its small, cruel, definitely joyless wars—how tragic and how cheap life could be. Lou’s positive energy was enormously appealing; hell, Lou was enormously appealing. Standing here in this sterile little room that smelled of disinfectant, its walls decorated with home snapshots of animals and their owners, he knew, assignment aside, he wanted to see more of her.

At the moment, however, she seemed in a hurry to leave.

“You wonder what?” she said, checking her watch. “I’m afraid I’m really in a hurry.”

“How about we get together?” he said. “You know, talk over old times.”

“What old times?”

“Well, we did attend the same high school.”

One surprised eyebrow shot up. “I’m amazed you were even aware of that.”

“Of course I was.” That came out way too heartily—what had happened to his customary smoothness?

Hand on hip again, she stared at him for a moment, doubt and just a little flare of—what? Yearning?—in her eyes. “Really?”

“I mean, you were Nancy’s friend, so of course I was aware of you.”

Not the right answer, he figured, as she seemed to digest it, then decide it wasn’t worth the effort. “Well, fine,” she said, briskly dismissing him. “Then I’ll see you on Sunday at Nancy’s wedding. Maybe we can catch up on ‘old times’ then. And now I really do have to get going.”

The hand was on the doorknob again, so he quickly came around the examining table. “Lou, I mean it.”

“Mean what?”

Now, he stood looking at her and offered a rueful smile. “I’m actually noted for my charming manner, but I’m not going about this too well. I’d like for us to, you know, get together.”

She gazed up at him, crossed her arms under her chest and narrowed her chocolate-brown eyes. He could have cut the suspicion in them with a knife. “What exactly does getting together mean?”

Why was her attitude toward him suddenly so hostile? “You know. A drink, dinner, whatever.”

“Why?”

Women, most of them, usually responded favorably to Will, so this curtness, this wall of resistance she’d erected in the space of ten seconds, really threw him. “Hey, did I do something, have I offended you?” he asked. “I mean, do you bite the head off of every man who asks you out?”

Her answering laugh wasn’t particularly amused. “Is that what you’re doing, asking me out?”

“Sure sounded that way to me.”

She stared at him some more, her pale brows creased in a puzzled frown. Then she took in a deep breath, exhaled it, and slowly uncrossed her arms, letting them drop to her side.

Suddenly she didn’t seem quite so antagonistic. Instead, she seemed more…melancholy. And just a little raw around the edges.

“I’m sorry, Will,” she said with a tired smile. “I’m kind of out of practice when it comes to this kind of thing.”

“What kind of thing?”

“You know. Dating.” She wrinkled her nose, as though she’d just eaten something sour. “It’s been a while.”

Ah. He got it now. Underneath the confrontational, I-got-it-covered attitude, Lou McAndrews was shy. Unsure of herself, especially around men. Which meant there were hurts in her past, wounds that hadn’t healed. Will found himself responding to that; he wanted to touch her, to reassure her.

But she was prickly and might not like that. At this moment, anyhow. “Well, then, okay, it’s not a date. We can downgrade to a drink or a cup of coffee. An hour, tops.”

A hint of the old wariness was back. “You’re really being persistent. And I guess I’m flattered. But…” She let the sentence trail off.

God, the woman was a tough nut to crack. Suspicious, too. And yet, she had every reason to be. He was totally sincere about his interest in her, but he was also here under false pretenses, and he was liking this assignment he’d given himself less and less. He’d intended to talk to her this weekend at the wedding on Sunday. But he’d had a stroke of good luck—good for him, anyway, bad for Oscar—when Nancy had asked him to take the dog to the vet. He thought he’d kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. Get Oscar some relief, ask Lou a few questions about her mother and Lincoln.

That had been the plan, at least, before he’d observed what a busy practice she had and how quickly she seemed to want to get to her next patient.

But there were still questions to be asked and answers to be recorded, so he plowed on. “Yeah, I’m pushing a bit. Put it down to not responding well to the word no,” he said truthfully. “I’m feeling challenged. I’m a reporter, remember? Getting past no is our stock in trade.” He followed that one up with another of his smiles, which he’d been told could melt the socks off anyone.

And it worked. Sort of. He saw interest, hesitation, interest again. The silence between them stretched while he waited.

Then he decided not to wait anymore. Moving away from the table, he stepped even closer to her. “Okay. Let me lay my cards on the table. I’m as surprised as you are, but the minute I saw you in the waiting room, I was struck by this weird sense of—” he shrugged “—I don’t know. For want of a better word, let’s call it attraction.”

Her eyes widened. Obviously, she hadn’t expected this. “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh.’ You were amazing.”

“I was?”

“Yeah. Maybe it was the way you took care of business—briskly, but with humor. Or the way your eyes sparkled when you were barking orders to everyone. I like strong women. I don’t know. Whatever the reason, I thought I’d do what a person usually does when they’re attracted to someone. They ask if they can see them again.”

Her face was now red with embarrassment. Mouth partly open, she gazed at him in wonder. “Holy cow,” she said slowly. “Do you do this a lot?”

“Do what?”

“Pick up women in offices? With words out of some soap opera script where the bad but sexy villain is trying to dishonor the foolish heroine?”

He laughed, delighted, then splayed his hand over his heart. “Soap opera? You wound me to the quick.”

“Well, maybe not quite that corny,” she said with a reluctant little laugh of her own.

“But you do get my meaning?”

“How could I miss it?” Her face was still rosy.

“And?”

“And what?”

He offered a mock leer and winked. “Wanna get together, girlie?”

Again she laughed, then shook her head ruefully. “I’m totally…not sure.” Biting her lower lip, her lively brown eyes darted left and right, searching deep, as though trying to figure out how much sincerity lay beneath his banter. He counseled himself to give her all the time she needed.

“You, um, really are…attracted to me?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

Instead of answering, another frown formed between her brows. “I guess it is.” Then she gave a helpless little shrug. “Well…okay. Sure. I mean, when did you want to do this…coffee thing?”

“Today? Tonight?”

“Not possible,” she said abruptly, and he could tell that part of her, at least, was relieved. “I’ve been on my feet since four this morning. Maybe next week?”

“I’ll be back in D.C. next week.”

She made an ah, well gesture and said cheerfully, “Then that decides it. Sorry. See you at the wedding.”

And with that, she whipped around, walked briskly out the door and shut it in his face.

Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God, Lou thought, leaning against the closed door and closing her eyes. Did I really just do that? Turn down a chance at a date with Will Jamison?

Was she a total idiot? Will Jamison! The boy turned man she’d had a crush on all through junior and senior high school and some time afterward. She might have stopped fantasizing about him years ago, but now it was all coming back to her in full, living color.

How many countless nights had she spent in flights of fancy about him? How many yearning, heartsick pages had she filled in her teenage journal, the one she’d finally burned? Back then, in the hormonal excess of youth, she would have done anything for him. One summer, she’d even submitted her tender skin to extreme discomfort when she’d had a tiny W tattooed on the underside of her left breast, near her heart. It was still there, although it had probably faded and shrunk some; with the recent weight loss, her boobs were much smaller.

She shook her head. Will Jamison. Six feet tall and as near to gorgeous as a man could be and still be all man. With his good looks, brains and popularity, he’d been the crown prince of their high school. And whatever he claimed today, she knew he had never known Lou McAndrews was alive.

But just now, he’d actually asked her out.

Another woman would have felt flattered, would have said sure, no problem, where and when? But for Lou, that reaction would have been too simple; what she felt instead was confused and somewhat sad, for the lonely overweight girl she’d been and the suspicious, untrusting woman she’d become, at least as far as men went.

At the moment, it was simply too much to deal with. Lou felt on edge, scattered, and not only because Mom had died so recently. After taking so much time off, she’d resumed her usual work hours and then some, still carrying her grief around with her like a too-heavy sack of gray rocks.

On top of that, these last few days she’d been plagued with an all-around feeling of jitteriness. She knew it was stupid, but it almost seemed as though she were under observation, as if someone were keeping tabs on her moves. Most likely it was her imagination. After all, she’d seen nothing suspicious, no shadows, no strangers ducking behind walls or windows as she passed.

It had to be because she was bone-weary: tired heads and tired eyes sometimes saw things that weren’t there.

But she couldn’t seem to shake it off. There was just this, well, this…feeling, that was all. Eyes watching her. Waiting for something. It gave her the creeps. As she thought about it now, she gave an involuntary shudder.

Rubbing her hands over her face, Lou told herself to cut it out. There was no time for stupid imaginings, not with the canines and felines, the ailing macaw and a hamster or two that needed her attention. Tending to them was a much better use of her time and a heck of a lot more productive than feeling paranoid.

Or mooning over Will Jamison.

Chapter 2

At seven that evening, deep in thought even as she stifled a yawn, Lou locked the clinic door, turned around and bumped smack into a chest. A man’s chest. Reeling, she gave a startled cry, but before she could go into full panic mode, two hands had caught her by the shoulders and helped her to keep her balance.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She glanced up to see Will Jamison looking down at her, concern in his eyes. “Well, you sure did.”

Irritated with herself for overreacting, she shook off his grip, making him drop his hands to his side. In the fading light of day, she could see that he’d shaved, was wearing cargo pants, a loud Hawaiian shirt and brown sandals. He was dressed for the heat of July in upstate New York. Heck, he could have been wearing a prison uniform and he still would have looked mouthwateringly splendid.

She wished she’d thought to wash her face, brush back her hair or put on some lipstick. She felt dreary and unkempt, a kind of bone-weariness that sat on her shoulders like an anvil. She rotated her neck, which was way too tight; her nerves were really on edge. Before she turned her attention back to Will, she darted a quick look at her surroundings.

Nope. No one ducking suddenly into an alleyway, no strange cars containing men in dark suits and shades staring at her from behind tinted windows.

Was she slowly going nuts? Having some sort of posttraumatic reaction to her mother’s passing?

She shook her head, hoping it would unscramble her brains back to where they belonged, then returned her gaze to Will. “So here you are again. That’s two times in one day. Coincidence?”

“Nope,” he said cheerfully. “I’ve come to buy you dinner.”

Despite herself, Lou chuckled. “You weren’t kidding when you said you didn’t like the word no, were you?”

“Hey, you have to eat, right? So do I. Come on, Lou. Give it up.” He had an I-dare-you twinkle in his eye, and she felt her defenses evaporating under the onslaught of so much charisma.

And why did she have the defenses up, anyway? What was the matter with her? She’d been thinking about the man all day, hadn’t she? Why was she holding on so tightly to keeping him at arm’s length? Even so, she gave it one last shot. “I’m not at my best, Will. I look awful. I’m tired. I was planning on picking up a salad and just going home.”

“You look fine. I have an urge for Lady Jamaica’s barbecue and a whole side of pork ribs. I don’t like to eat alone. It’s two blocks away. Come with me,” he coaxed.

He grinned, that sensational crooked grin of his, and just like that, she was a goner. Just as she’d been fifteen, sixteen, seventeen years ago. Caught up in the spell of Will Jamison’s smile.

He offered her his arm, an endearingly courtly gesture, and she indulged in one more moment of indecision. Then muttering, “Oh, what the hell,” she took his arm and allowed herself to be led off down the street.

As usual, Lady Jamaica’s Place was packed and overly loud with conversation and island music. Mouthwatering smells of garlic and exotic spices filled the air of the high-ceilinged, barnlike restaurant. Once she and Will were seated, Lou gazed around the room and noticed people noticing them. Despite herself, a tiny thrill coursed through her—oh, how her youthful self had yearned for this, to be seen with Will, to be thought of as special enough to be seen with Will.

Back then, as now, she’d been friends with his sister Nancy, and when she was at the Jamison house, she would watch him surreptitiously, waiting for him to talk to her, to say hello at least. But he and his friends, all the other cool school jocks, steamrolled their way through the house, sweatshirts damp from shooting hoops in the backyard, horsing around, telling dumb jokes, raiding the refrigerator, creating mile-high sandwiches.

And never, never, ever noticing her, no matter what he’d said earlier. She’d been a nothing. A short, chubby, red-haired, freckled nobody. Not anymore.

Lou had been raised by a hardworking single mother, had learned to make do with very little money and had an affinity for animals. She got decent enough grades to get into vet school, but had never been a real brain. She did have a sharp sense of humor, but not around Will, never around Will. No, whenever she’d been in the vicinity of her secret crush, she’d been dry-mouthed and tongue-tied. The witty, smart little remarks she’d come up with in her head would always manage to get lost, strangled to a premature death in the back of her throat before they could escape. And she would blush.

And now here she was, out to dinner with Will Jamison. In public. Because he had insisted. Despite her setting all kinds of barriers in place, he’d pushed through and insisted.

And again she had to wonder why, even as she cursed her suspicious mind. But really, Will Jamison, attracted to her? It was the word he had used—attracted. But she was so definitely not his type, which tended toward tall, blond and sophisticated; Nancy occasionally ran pictures in the Courier of Will at various D.C. functions, and that was the type of woman always on his arm. Lou was none of those adjectives.

Oh, sure, she knew she wasn’t unappealing and had a somewhat offbeat charm. She was reputed to be “fun.” And yes, there had been men attracted to her over the years—she’d even married one. But she was under no illusions about herself. Lou was ordinary. And she simply did not belong in the same equation with Will Jamison.

Then why had he insisted on taking her out? Was she some kind of charity case? Oh, no. Had Nancy told her brother how sad Lou had been since Mom had died, and had he decided to give the little lady a thrill? Or maybe he was doing a piece on animal rescuers or female veterinarians and wanted her to help him?

Or maybe he really was attracted to her, and she was allowing painful ghosts to infect her mind and run her life for her. Wow, what a concept.

When the waiter, one of Lady Jamaica’s several tall, ebony-skinned sons, appeared at their table, Lou ordered a vodka martini. After Will had ordered a beer, he said, “A martini, huh? Pretty fancy for a ribs-and-corn dinner.”

“It’s a tradition,” she told him. “One a night, and never more than one. It started with Mom about ten years ago. Our own little cocktail hour, a kind of letting-down time after a stressful day. And I’ve kept it up.”

“Traditions are good things,” he said, nodding.

“Unless they’re stupid things.”

“Agreed. Like fraternity hazings.”

“And shooting guns in the air on the Fourth of July.”

“Although fireworks on the same day are good things.”

“Agreed.”

As they grinned at each other, Lou felt herself relaxing, just a bit, and was grateful for the respite. When the drinks arrived, Will raised his glass. “Let’s make a toast.”

“To what?”

“Good traditions and old friends.”

She clinked his glass with hers, but her brief feeling of lightheartedness lessened. He was still playing that “old friends” tune. She could curse her suspicious mind all she wanted, but something in his attitude felt off somehow.

She took a sip of her drink and let it warm her blood. Okay, enough. She was a grown-up now, she told herself, not a foolish schoolgirl, and could handle all kinds of situations, including dinner with Will Jamison. And so they fell into chatting about Nancy’s upcoming marriage to her childhood sweetheart, Bob Weiss. How the town had changed, what had happened to people they both knew. Will was easy to be with, Lou thought. He listened, seemed to be deeply interested in whatever she said.

And, of course, there was that mesmerizing face of his. Eyes that were jade green under heavyish brows and lids, and eyelashes thicker than was fair; a long, thin nose, generous mouth, and just the slightest indentation in the middle of a square, rugged chin. She watched his expression change with each new topic—surprise, amusement, a hint of sadness when he learned of the high school principal’s death, all of it registered on his striking features…and made her stupid heart thump just a little harder.

When their meals came—two huge plates of ribs, corn, coleslaw, beans and garlic bread, hot and spicy and mouthwateringly delicious—Lou was grateful to have something else to concentrate on other than Will Jamison. While he dug in eagerly, she took a bite of one of the ribs and chewed slowly, hoping she’d be able to eat a decent amount tonight.

After Will had inhaled about half his dinner, he put down his fork. A time-out was called for, he decided. He wiped his mouth, finished off his beer and was wondering how to introduce the topic of Lincoln DeWitt when Lou took care of it.

“Tell me about your life as a reporter.” Resting her elbow on the table, she cupped her chin in her hand and gazed at him. “Working on anything special lately?”

“Well, yeah. I’m planning a series for the New York Times about the black sheep of prominent families.”

“Ooh, lots of scandals. Sounds like fun.”

“It is. I’m doing the first one on Lincoln DeWitt.” He tossed the name off casually and watched her face for a reaction.

She shrugged. “Never heard of him, sorry.”

“Really?” When she shook her head no, Will said, “He’s Jackson DeWitt’s brother. The senator from Florida?”

“Now that name rings a bell.” She wrinkled her nose. “Sorry, I don’t much follow politics. I find it too depressing.”

“It is that, but the backroom maneuvering is pretty fascinating.”

She picked up a French fry, dipped it in ketchup and bit into it. That was when Will noticed that Lou’s plate was nearly full. Before he could comment on it, she said, “So, tell me, what’s this Lincoln DeWitt like?”

“He’s got the morals of an alley cat,” he said with a smile. “The man has a huge ego, drinks way too much and, to tell you the truth, I kind of like him. You can’t help it. He’s so up front about what a bad boy he is.”

“Does he know you’re writing the article?”

“Are you kidding? He’s cooperating, one hundred percent. The man loves the limelight.”

Lou offered a mirthless laugh. “Everyone wants to be famous. Not me, thanks. Give me a small, settled life, and I’m a happy camper.”

“Good for you. Better that way.”

So, she really didn’t know, Will realized. Had not an inkling, he was sure of it.

When she took a small bite of her corn and then set it down, again his attention was brought back to the fact that she’d hardly eaten a thing, and he felt concern for her, more concern than was his business.

Not for the first time, he wished he didn’t have two agendas for being here with Lou tonight, the personal and the professional. As a reporter, the two were often linked, and tonight was no exception.

And although he didn’t believe in coincidence, that was exactly what had happened back in D.C. this past Tuesday night that had led to this meeting….

The DuPont Circle neighborhood bar hadn’t been very crowded as, somewhat early for his appointment with Lincoln DeWitt, Will had been catching up on a back issue of the Susanville Courier. His little sister, the paper’s managing editor, always faithfully sent them to him.

He was glancing at the obituaries when a slap on the back told him the man himself had arrived. Lincoln slid onto the stool next to him, saying, “Hey, Will, heard this one? Old geezer is having bed trouble with his old lady. You know, no staying power? Goes to his doc for some hot new meds. Doc tells him there are possible side effects: dizziness, high blood pressure, nausea, even death. Guy shrugs and says, ‘Hey, she dies, she dies.’” Lincoln followed the punch line with one of his big, hearty laughs.

As always, his mirth was contagious, and Will chuckled. “And good evening to you, too, Lincoln.”

DeWitt was a handsome man in his early sixties, with a straight nose, high forehead and a full head of silver hair. But his gut protruded over his belt and there were lines of dissipation around the eyes, a reddened nose, sunken cheeks. Hard living had taken its toll.

After Lincoln ordered his usual double scotch on the rocks, his gaze drifted to the newspaper Will had spread out in front of him. A deep frown creased his patrician forehead as he stared at the Courier’s back page.

Will noticed his reaction. “What is it, Linc?”

The older man grabbed the paper and brought the page that had captured his attention closer. From his vest pocket, he removed reading glasses, put them on and studied the picture. “Where did you get this?”

“It’s my hometown newspaper. Susanville, New York.”

“Janice McAndrews,” he muttered.

“Excuse me?”

“This woman, this Janice McAndrews,” he said, pointing to the page, still frowning. “This is her obituary. Did you know her?”

“Janice McAndrews,” Will said, thinking. “Let me see.”

He peered over Linc’s shoulder and read. There were two pictures, one of a much younger woman—say, twenty years earlier or so—and another more recent one, taken at the age, reported to be fifty-three, when the woman had died of cancer. One survivor, Louise McAndrews, DVM.

“Oh, yes,” he said, remembering now why the name was familiar. “I knew her daughter. Well, kind of knew her. She was one of my sister’s friends.”

“Hmm.” And with that, Linc handed the paper back to him, grinning once again. “So, what’s up? Did you interview Gretchen? And does she still disapprove of me?”

Will wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily. “How do you know Janice McAndrews? What is she to you?”

Linc gave an offhand shrug, that good-time twinkle was back in his eye. “I haven’t the slightest idea.”

“Then why the reaction?”

“She reminded me of someone, that’s all,” he answered easily. “But I was wrong.”

“Linc. You’re BSing me.”

After a momentary pause, during which the older man probably realized he wasn’t going to win this one, he said, “Yeah, I am.” He offered another smirk. “Okay, I think, well—” he winked “—I may have been, shall we say, intimate with the lady? Only that wasn’t her name…I think. I really don’t remember for sure. There were a few years back there in the seventies when I was experimenting with all kinds of potions and mixtures. The whole thing’s kind of fuzzy.”

“And that’s it? You sure?”

He splayed his hands. “Hey, I’ve come clean about all the ladies I’ve been with, at least all the ones I remember, haven’t I, Will?” That he had, and the list was long and possibly libelous—the Times’s lawyers would be sharpening their pencils, Will had no doubt.

“Okay, yeah.”

So, he’d let it lie. For the moment.

But Linc’s reaction had been too big for his explanation. Will had a sixth sense for what his interview subjects wanted to hide, and Lincoln DeWitt was hiding something. So later that night, back at his home office, Will had turned on his computer and used Google to search the Internet for Janice McAndrews. He got some references to a classics scholar living in Madrid, several more to a financial adviser based in Chicago. A few single hits referred to school reunions, recipe queries and even more mundane things, but nothing about a Janice McAndrews of Susanville, New York. He might have picked up the phone right then and called Lou, but he knew he would be going home for his sister’s wedding.

Now, here he was, three days later, sitting at Lady Jamaica’s, across the table from the woman he’d hoped might shed some light on what Lincoln DeWitt was hiding.

Light had been shed, but Lou herself was completely in the dark.

“All of us here in Susanville are pretty impressed at how well you’ve done, career-wise,” she said.

He shrugged, tossed it off. “I’ve been lucky.”

“Lucky and talented.” She smiled. “Fifteen years climbing the reporter’s career ladder, and now the New York Times. Everyone always thought you’d be the one to take over the Courier. But I guess the wider world outside of Susanville called to you.”

“That it did.”

“And how was it?”

“The world?”

“Yes.”

There was a flippant answer Will could have given, but instead he found himself taking the time to actually think about it. A series of images flashed in his mind like slides on a screen: bodies being blown up in Iraq; more blood-soaked corpses strewn over the wreckage of a train crash in Spain; large-eyed, hollow-cheeked, diseased children in Sudan. “It’s pretty rough out there,” he said somberly. “I got burned-out. There’s a lot of pain in the world, and way too much violence.”

“So I hear.” Compassion shone from her eyes, followed by a soft smile. “And burnout happens to us all.”

He shifted his attention to her full plate. “Hey,” he said. “Come on, you have to eat something.”

Lou was surprised by the change of subject, then she too looked down. Will was nearly done with his dinner and she’d hardly touched hers. She took a bite of her garlic bread, but could barely chew it. For weeks, her appetite simply hadn’t been there. It was as though her taste buds had calluses on them. Yes, sir, that new weight-loss gimmick—grief.

“I’m not very hungry.”

When their waiter asked if they wanted coffee or dessert, Will looked at Lou and she shook her head. He pointed to her plate. “Wrap that to go and I’ll take the check.”

When they left the restaurant, night had descended fully, lit faintly by a quarter moon that hung to one side of the church steeple like a dangling earring. Lou took in a deep breath of cool evening air and felt her nausea abating.

As though echoing her thoughts, Will murmured, “I always forget how much I love the nights here in Susanville. Clean air. No glaring lights to interfere with the stars. Not much traffic or noise. Quiet.”

“Yes.”

“Let’s stroll a bit before I take you home.” He carried her packed-up dinner in one hand, so he bent his other arm and, as before, offered it to Lou. “Okay?”

“Sure.”

Lou inserted her hand in the crook of his elbow and they walked along, not speaking, their footsteps echoing on the nearly deserted sidewalks. This close to Will, she felt so small. Which made sense—he was a foot taller than she was.

But it was more than that, always had been. It had to do with the power of that personality of his and the effect it used to have—still had?—on her. Will reduced her somehow, robbed her of a firm sense of who she was. She felt so…not helpless, exactly, but sapped of strength, as though all her energy—whatever wasn’t being utilized by unrequited love—was needed just to keep up. She didn’t care for the feeling, not in the least.

She shot a sideways glance at him. Lit as he was by the moon and the occasional old-fashioned streetlamp, his face was all planes and shadows. Maturity agreed with him; he was more filled out, less bony. His face, with lines across his forehead and around the mouth and eyes, had not just beauty but character. If she was thirty-three, that made him thirty-six or thirty-seven. He was in his prime, the years when a man finally grows into his face and a woman’s begins to droop.

She was contemplating the unfairness of Mother Nature toward her own sex when Will broke the silence. “Have you always lived here?”

“Since I was thirteen.”

“And before that?”

“We moved around a lot.”

“Your dad’s job?”

“No, my mom’s. Dad was a ship’s captain in the Merchant Marines. He died when I wasn’t even a year old.”

So, Will thought, if his suspicions were correct, Janice McAndrews had invented a father for her little girl and had never given her a reason to doubt his existence. “What a shame,” he said, “to lose your father so early in your life.”

“You can’t really miss what you’ve never had.”

After passing a series of storefronts, they both stopped and stared at the sign in one window. Susanville Courier, Est. 1957, it read. Lou smiled. “And just think, instead of writing for the Times, all this could have all been yours.”

“Never wanted the job.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Really? I’m surprised.”

“I know, everyone took it for granted. But, trust me, it was the furthest thing from my mind. I hated the paper.”

“Why?”

A sense of bitterness tinged with sadness pierced him then, a feeling he hadn’t allowed himself to experience in years. “It robbed me of a father. He was always here, at the paper, hardly ever at home.”

“A workaholic.”

He nodded and they continued walking toward the clinic. “The man invented the concept. He couldn’t come to my soccer games because of a story, unless he was covering the game. Couldn’t visit me in the hospital when I had my tonsils out—deadline on an issue. He was editor, publisher, chief reporter, and I was pretty low on the list of his priorities. Yeah, I hated the Courier.”

He was shocked at how much passion he still felt about the subject and had no idea why he was telling Lou about it. A man who never talked about his disappointment with his father—not to anyone—Will was letting Lou in, as though they’d been intimate friends for years.

She cocked her head and gazed up at him, her deep brown eyes once again filled with understanding. “And yet you went into the newspaper business.”

“I am my father’s son, I guess.” He’d gotten that little insight a while ago—that he was way, way too much like his old man for comfort. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, etc.” He shook his head. “Wow. I sure hadn’t planned on telling you all that,” he confessed. “Let’s pretend I didn’t.”

“Why? Afraid I’ll pierce your manly armor and find out you have emotions?”

Will chuckled. “Busted.”

“Men.” It was her turn to shake her head.

“Uh-oh. Is that disdain for my sex I hear? What’s the story there?”

“None of your business,” she said lightly.

“I showed you mine, you have to show me yours.”

“In a manner of speaking.”

He grinned. “In a manner of speaking. Hey!”

This last was directed at the backs of two men who, out of nowhere, it seemed, ran past them, obviously in a hurry, nearly knocking Lou and him over.

“Hey!” Will called out again, putting his arm around Lou’s shoulder and pulling her close. But the men didn’t stop; instead, they sped up and disappeared around the corner. “Idiots,” he muttered.

In another half block, they were at the clinic. “This where your car is?” he asked.

“Where my house is.” She pointed upstairs. “Mom and I—I mean, I,” she amended, “live upstairs.”

Together, his arm still around her, they walked up the alleyway at the side of the building where a flight of wooden steps led to the upper floor. At the foot of the stairs, Lou turned, slipped out from under his arm and said, “Well, thanks for dinner. See you at the wedding on Sunday.”

He grabbed her hand before she could bolt up the stairs. “Not so fast. You were about to let me in on the reasons for the ‘I hate men’ attitude.”

“I was about to do no such thing.”

“Tell me anyway.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t hate men.”

“Tell me.”

“It’s boring.”

“Try me.”

She shook her hand loose. “God! You don’t give up, do you? Okay. It’s just that…” She shrugged. “The opposite sex and I don’t mix well. Let’s leave it at that.”

“Nope. I always get my story. You can’t win. Are you going to invite me up for a cup of coffee?”

“Nope.”

“Okay, then. I guess we’ll do it here.”

He plopped himself down on the second-to-bottom step. Sighing loudly, she joined him, but on the step above. She was eye level with him now, illuminated solely by the bug light from the porch above them. Stray strands of wiry hair were backlit in yellow. “Let’s hear it,” he said.

He watched her as she gazed down at her hands, played with her knuckles as she spoke. “It’s just that, well, I’ve had just about nothing but trouble with the male of the species all my life. The heartache kind, the being-lied-to kind, the being-left-feeling-useless-and-ugly kind. Mom had a boyfriend for a while, then he stole money from her and took off. I had a husband and he cheated on me. No dad, no male role model while I was growing up. Stuff like that.”

She raised her gaze to meet his; the expression in her eyes was one of rueful resignation. “I prefer my animals. They always tell the truth. If they’re hungry, they let you know. If they want to be left alone, they go off. They’re soft, eager to please and never leave you.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Now who got naked?”

He sat still for a moment, taking in all she had told him. This woman moved him, deeply. Words seemed shallow, but he managed to say, “Thanks for trusting me.” He took one of her hands in his and squeezed it.

She looked down at their joined hands, then back up at him. “Actually, I’m not sure I do.” Her expression was both sad and apologetic at the same time. “But then, that could be more about me than about you.”

“A real possibility,” he said lightly, wanting her to trust him, but knowing that, at least on one level, she had a right not to. The personal and the professional again.

He lightly massaged each of her small fingers, one at a time, thoroughly enjoying the physical connection. The hitch in her breath let him know the sensation was mutual.

“Back to the animal thing,” he said. “The comparison doesn’t hold up. Humans have certain needs—for verbal communication, for the touching of flesh that isn’t all fur. And,” he added with a grin, “unless you’re twisted, there are some fairly basic needs that can’t be filled by them.”

“Um, yeah, I’ll give you that.”

He really wanted to ask her what she did for that one specific, very basic need—namely, sex. But he had a feeling it would disrupt the fragile sense of trust they’d established. Instead, he set her hand down on his bended knee and picked up the other one, rubbing the fingers, one at a time.

Frozen in time and space, Lou simply couldn’t move. Will’s touch was everything she’d fantasized all those years ago. Firm and sure of itself, yet gentle at the same time. Her pulse quickened, her breathing grew louder in her ears.

“Why did you move so much?”

His question startled her out of a sensual haze. “Excuse me?”

“When you were little.”

“Oh.” Still reacting to his touch, she heard herself answer as though from a distance. “Mom worked as a nanny, for newborns, mostly, and they were short-term jobs.”

“And so you moved every time a job ended?”

She managed a shrug. He was massaging the palm of her hand now; there was something amazingly intimate about the whole thing. Hands, knees, touch, warmth. “I guess so. I didn’t question it—I just thought that’s what you did. A job stopped, it was time for a new town. She made packing and moving an adventure, so it wasn’t too bad.”

“Why’d you finally settle here?”

You, was what she nearly blurted out. But she was not ready to get that naked with him. In fact…

Withdrawing her hands from his ministrations, she clasped them around her bent knees. “I begged her. I was thirteen years old and I wanted to start and end a school year in the same place. She managed to get a nice job with the Griswalds as a full-time housekeeper, and she came into a little money from an inheritance so we could put a down payment on this place. I got jobs after school and we got by.”

“Tell me about her. Do you mind?”

“Not at all. She was a sweet woman, totally devoted to me. To her detriment, I’m afraid. Not that she martyred herself, trust me. She had hobbies that she loved and good friends. We made a nice life here.”

And Mom’s had been way too short. Lou felt her eyes filling with tears. “You know what, Will? I’m tired.” She rose from the steps and realized she was actually exhausted.

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry.”

Will followed Lou up the stairs, reluctant to have their evening end. There had been something different, something special about it. Sitting with Lou on the steps, talking quietly in the dark, he’d felt an affinity, an intimate connection to her that was rare for him to feel with anyone.

At the door, she pulled her keys out from her purse, then turned to him. “Well, thanks,” she said. In the yellow light, he could see the tired lines under her eyes. Large brown eyes. Kind brown eyes.

“For what?” He handed her the to-go package.

“Dinner. The talk. The hand rub.” She smiled. “It’s been a while since I’ve had human discourse. Conversations with animals tend to be kind of one-sided.”

Without thinking, he placed his palms on her soft cheeks, angled her head up, bent over and kissed her. He felt her body tense for a moment; then she relaxed. Her lips softened, parted slightly. He slid his tongue in and tasted her. Moist. Sweet. His body responded instantly…and way too intensely.

Breaking the kiss, he drew back, dropped his hands.

She gazed at him, eyes wide. “Why did you kiss me?”

It had been a momentary lapse of judgment, following through on something that should never have begun in the first place. He didn’t want to play around in his hometown, then leave. Not with someone vulnerable to hurt the way Lou was.

Still, he owed her the truth. “I told you I was attracted to you. Nothing since has changed my mind. I’m sorry we don’t live near each other.”

“Oh.” He could see she was not sure what to do with that. Embarrassed, she fumbled for her house key and inserted it in the lock. Then she turned again to face him. “Good night, Will.”

“Sleep well.”

Whistling, he began to descend the stairs and was halfway down when he heard a piercing cry shatter the stillness of the night.

Chapter 3

Will rushed right back up the stairs and flung open the door to see Lou standing in the middle of the living room, her hand to her mouth and shaking her head. It was a small, high-ceilinged room with two archways, one that led to the rear of the house and another through which a kitchen was visible. The entire place was in shambles. Lamps were overturned, couch pillows strewn about, the drawers of a tall sideboard pulled out and their contents, mostly table linens and large platters, dumped on the floor. Paintings had been torn off the wall, their backs ripped open.

Quickly, Will closed the door, went to Lou and guided her to a small chair near the fireplace. “Sit,” he ordered, then added, “Stay here.” She did.

He picked up the fireplace poker and quickly searched the rest of the small living quarters. The rear arch led to two small bedrooms and a bath. The first bedroom was in as much disarray as the living room: clothing heaped on the floor of a closet, drawers opened, sheets and blankets tossed about. Whoever it was who had done this had been in a hurry. It looked as though a tornado had tunneled its way through. In the small bathroom, the contents of the medicine cabinet lay scattered on the tile floor. The second bedroom, however, was amazingly neat. It seemed obvious they hadn’t had time to get to this room before they’d taken off.

Will ran back to the living room and checked to see that Lou was still in the chair. She was, though she was still shaking. Then he headed into the kitchen and gazed around. Oven doors were open, cabinets had been gone through, even the refrigerator door stood ajar. He closed it, then returned to Lou.

Kneeling down in front of her, Will took both her freezing hands in his. Her face was white, her eyes huge and vulnerable. “No one’s here. You’re safe.”

She nodded.

“They didn’t get to the smaller bedroom, at least.”

She nodded again.

“Are you in shock? Talk to me.”

She shook her head, then managed, “Just…horrified.” She shrugged, a small helpless gesture. “And confused. Why? Who would do this?”

He stood, took out his cell phone and paced back and forth in front of the small fireplace as he placed a call to 911. After ascertaining that there didn’t seem to be imminent danger, the operator told him she’d report this immediately to the police.

Will squatted on his haunches, again took her cold hands in his and rubbed them together. “They’re on their way. Can I get you something? A glass of water?”

“Yes,” she said, licking around her mouth. “That would be nice.”

After double-locking the front door just to be safe, he headed to the kitchen and returned with a glass of water that Lou gulped down quickly. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she set the glass down on a side table, then gazed around the room again.

“I don’t understand.”

“This happened to me once in D.C. and when I got home I was shocked at first, then really pissed off. It’s a kind of violation, isn’t it?”

She nodded, but seemed distracted. After a moment, she shook her head slowly. “I thought it was nothing.”

“You thought what was nothing?”

“The last few days. I’ve had this…creepy feeling, like someone was watching me, following me.”

“Really?”

She nodded again, her brows furrowed. “It was nothing I could see, nothing tangible, but I sensed it. It was like he, they, whatever, were waiting for something. For me to do something.” She turned her gaze on him. “Since Mom died, I go down to the clinic in the morning and come back up here at night. I don’t much go anywhere else. And what I think, although I could be wrong, is that they were waiting for me to leave so they could do this. Does that sound nuts?”

“Not in the least.”

“And tonight there was a break in the pattern. I went out to dinner with you.” A look of sudden realization came over her face. “The men! Remember the two men, the ones who were in such a hurry right before we got here? They must have seen us coming and ran out before they could finish whatever they were here for. Oh!”

She stood abruptly, rushed to the smaller of the two bedrooms. Will followed. “Don’t touch anything before the cops get here.”

She knelt in front of the bed, lifted the spread and reached under. “I have to get Anthony.”

“Anthony?”

“My baby.” After a moment, she pulled out a highly protesting small black kitten with white paws, shivering and emitting tiny, pitiful little mews. Instead of rising again, Lou sat on the floor, leaned back against the bed and, cradling the terrified animal in her arms, murmured comforting words in a low, soothing voice.

Gazing down on the picture the two made, Will was oddly moved. The woman was something else; her place had been invaded, but she had put that aside to take care of a small, helpless animal.

The sound of heavy footsteps on the outside stairs was followed by a loud rapping on the door. “It’s Kevin Miller!”

“Kevin?” Will asked as he helped Lou to her feet and they made their way toward the front of the house.

“He’s our police chief.”

Will opened the door and sure enough, one of his buddies from high school stood there, wearing chinos and a dark blue sweatshirt with the legend Police Do It In Handcuffs scrawled across his ample chest. “Will?” he said, surprise on his round face. “Hey.”

The two men shook hands. “Kev.”

Kevin’s short hair was beginning to gray and his gut was somewhat more pronounced than it had been back in their school jock days, but he hadn’t changed much. He was still placid-looking and good-natured. He stepped inside, followed by a youthful uniformed cop. The rookie officer was introduced as Jack Kingman.

“How you doing, Dr. Lou?” Kevin asked.

She shrugged. “Not great.”

He perused the room, nodded. “So I see.” He turned to the kid. “Check the place out.”

“I already did,” Will offered. “No one’s here.”

“Not too smart.”

He shrugged. “I needed to make sure Lou was safe.”

“Check anyway,” Kevin told Kingman. “You know the drill, don’t touch anything.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And please,” Lou added, “the clinic downstairs? I need to know everything’s okay there.”

Kevin looked at the rookie. “Got that?”

“Yes, sir.”

After the young man took off, Kevin tugged a notebook and pen from his back pocket, and told Lou to sit on the part of the couch that was still cushioned. Kevin then pulled up a wooden chair from the dining room table and sat in front of her.

As Will perched on the arm of the couch, Kevin asked Lou, “Can you talk to me now?” When she nodded, he said, “Tell me what you know, from the beginning.”

She did so—the feeling of being followed the past few days, the men rushing down the street as she and Will came up, opening her door to discover the place had been thoroughly trashed.

“Anything taken?” Kevin asked, jotting down notes.

“I haven’t really had time to look around, but not as far as I can tell.”

“Any idea why they’d pick you or your place?”

“Not a one.”

“You got any valuables here?”

“Not a thing. Kevin, I swear I can’t think of any reason for this, none at all.”

The rookie cop returned. “All clear up here, sir.”

“Check the clinic now.”

“Yes, sir.”

He left by the front door and Kevin returned his attention to Lou. “So, you think you’ve been under some kind of scrutiny and that the two men who nearly knocked you guys down are connected to that. Do you know that, or just think it?” He framed the question neutrally, but Will could see the skepticism behind it.

“I think it.”

“Okay, then. Any enemies?”

“Me?” She shook her head again. “Honestly, I have nothing of value and no enemies.”

“Old boyfriends?”

“No one of any consequence. An ex-husband who I haven’t seen in years—he’s remarried and happily, so I hear. He lives out west in Oregon.”

Will mused aloud. “They were looking for something, don’t you think, Kev?”

He nodded. “Money, probably, or something they could pawn.”

“If they were,” Lou said, “they were clean out of luck. I mean, what with student loans, the mortgage, then setting up the clinic, Mom and I only recently got out of the red. All the furniture you see here is from thrift shops, with Mom working her magic on them. The only thing I can think of is some silver. You know, a few old place settings that we happened to pick up at a swap meet.” Still cradling the kitten, she rose from the couch and walked over to the sideboard where she peered into one of the drawers that was hanging open. “Nope. They’re still here.” She turned around, shrugged. “There’s nothing, Kevin, trust me.”

“Could be a random thing,” Kevin said. “But I don’t think it was.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because it was too thoroughly gone through,” Will said, then addressed the chief. “You mind, Kev?” An amused smile on his face, the other man shook his head. Will angled his body toward Lou, still standing behind him by the sideboard. “I used to be a beat reporter covering the D.C. cops and went to a lot of crime scenes. This is the kind of damage you see when someone is looking for one specific thing of value, something that might be hidden. You know, a first edition, a valuable painting, family heirlooms. Maybe important papers, like financial records in a divorce or some kind of evidence to be used in a lawsuit.”

She shook her head. “There’s nothing that complicated in my life, trust me.”

He believed her, as far as that went. But there could be something she had no knowledge of. The timing of the break-in was bothering him. Had his conversation with Lincoln earlier in the week set something sinister in motion? Lou said she’d had the feeling of having been watched for a few days. It was just three days ago that he’d talked to Linc and Lou’s mother had been mentioned.

Was there a connection? Was this reporter’s intuition or reporter’s overactive imagination at work?

He couldn’t be certain. In his profession, a prime credo was that all threads had to be followed to their source. “How about your mother?” he offered.

“How about my mother what?”

Kingman, the young officer, came pounding up the stairs and reported that everything downstairs was fine. The whole place was locked up tighter than a drum.

Lou seemed to relax just a bit at the news. After she thanked him, Kevin told him to wait at the foot of the stairs and to keep an eye out for anything suspicious.

“Yes, sir,” the young man said and went pounding down the stairs again. So much energy, Will thought with a smile.

Kevin said to Lou, “Your mother? Maybe she had something valuable here, something you didn’t know about.”

Shaking her head, she returned to the couch and sat down again. “I guess it’s possible.”

“Did you go through all her effects?” Will persisted.

“Her effects?” She snorted. “Her clothes and a couple of boxes in the attic, that’s all. Baby pictures, my school report cards, stuff like that.”

“Did she have a safe-deposit box?” Kevin asked.

“One at our bank. It contained her will, leaving everything to me. A small insurance policy.” She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands.

“You holding up okay?” Will asked Lou.

“I’m tired, but I’m fine,” she said. “And now that the initial shock is over, you’re right, I’m starting to get pissed off.”

Kevin nodded. “Good. Can either of you describe the two men who rushed by you?”

Lou shook her head, but Will closed his eyes, pictured the scene. “Both wore black. One had longish brown hair tied at his neck. The other wore a baseball cap, black also, didn’t notice a logo. Their heads were lowered as they ran so I couldn’t see their faces, but I got the impression they were mid to late twenties.”

Kevin jotted down some notes, returned the pad and pen to his back pocket and stood up. “Well, it’s a start. I’ll check and see if there’s any kind of recent pattern in the area, two men breaking in when the owner isn’t home.” He headed for the front door. “Meantime, let’s close up the place. I’ll put a man on outside all night. My fingerprint guy will be back from vacation tomorrow. I’ll get him up here then. He’s good. Although they probably wore gloves.”

“Close up the place?” Lou said.

“You can’t stay here,” Will told her.

“But—”

He cut her off. “Absolutely not.”

“Hey, Dr. Lou,” Kevin explained, “if they were interrupted before they finished, they may come back.”

Her face went white again. “Oh.”

“Come with me to Nancy’s place,” Will said. “She’ll put you up.”

“No, that’s too much for her, with the wedding and all. I’ll go to a hotel.”

“You will not. You shouldn’t be alone. You’ve had a shock.”

“I’m fine now, Will,” she insisted stubbornly.

“Bull. You’re running on empty and you need to collapse someplace safe.”

With that, he took out his cell phone, contacted his sister, briefly explained what had happened and then handed the phone to Lou. Adjusting the kitten in the crook of her elbow, she put the phone to her ear. Whatever his sister said to her made her smile, then nod. “Okay, okay, you’ve convinced me.”

As she gave him back his phone, she said, “If I don’t come over, she’ll never speak to me again. I gave her enough grief refusing to be a bridesmaid, so I’m treading on thin ice as it is.”

Nancy Jamison was tall and bony, not beautiful, but the kind of woman who would grow more attractive with age. She had the Jamison dark hair and pronounced bone structure, but her eyes were light blue instead of green like Will’s. When she threw open the door and opened her arms, Lou went right into them, and, just like that, she was on the verge of tears again. She really had thought she was okay, had thought Will was fussing needlessly, but it turned out he was right.

He stood behind her, carrying everything—her overnight case, the cat carrier, litter box and litter. He wouldn’t hear of her lifting anything.

“You poor thing,” Nancy said, patting her on the back.

Lou withdrew from the hug. “I didn’t want to bother you so close to the wedding.”

“Stop it,” she said sternly, ushering her into the same house Lou had considered a second home for twenty years. As far as the eye could see, there were white boxes of all sizes opened, half-opened, still sealed. Wrapping paper was strewn all over the floors. Wedding gifts were taking over the place.

Will came in, closing the door behind them.

“You’re my friend. Of course you can stay,” Nancy said. “As long as you want. The place will be empty after the wedding while we’re on our honeymoon and my brother goes back to Washington.”

“Just tonight, thanks.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Oscar, obviously just awakened from a snooze, wandered into the foyer from the kitchen. The minute the pug saw and smelled the kitty box, he began to bark.

“Hush,” Nancy said.

“Oscar, behave,” Lou said sternly, and the sniffling, snorting dog stopped barking and backed off, his head lowered as though his feelings had been deeply hurt.

“What’s all the ruckus?”

Nancy’s fiancé Bob wandered from down the hall, dressed in an old robe, his glasses perched at an odd angle on his nose and his hair mussed. “Oh, hi, Lou,” he said with one of his sweet smiles.

“Bob, I’m so sorry I woke you up.”

“Go back to bed, honey.” Nancy shooed him away.

“Really?”

“Really.”

Nodding, he smiled one more time, turned right around and walked back down the hall.

Lou was shown to the guest room, just off the service porch connected to the kitchen. Then Nancy left her to join her brother, while Lou set up a little area for Anthony. She poured food in a bowl, gave him water, filled the litter box, and patted the sweet little thing until he stopped quaking.

As she was shutting the door behind her, she heard Nancy’s voice in the kitchen. “Imagine my surprise to hear that you and Lou had been out together.”

“Yeah. Funny, huh.”

“Strange, really. I never heard a word about the two of you being, you know, friendly.”

“There is no ‘two of us,’ Nan. When I took Oscar in this morning, I invited her to dinner tonight. You were busy with Bob and the wedding, and she’s good company. No biggie.”

Lou barely had time to be disappointed by Will’s answer before she heard Nancy reply, “Well, it’s just strange, you know, considering how she’s always—”

Lou so did not want her to finish that sentence; Nancy knew all about Lou’s long-ago crush on her brother, and Lou would be mortified to hear it revealed. Closing the bedroom door louder than necessary, she joined them in the kitchen, saying, “Poor Anthony, he’s totally traumatized. We found him in a Dumpster a couple of weeks ago. Heaven knows how he got there. And then he had to be isolated for a while, while he got over a bad wheeze. And he’s cross-eyed, poor baby, so no one seemed to want to adopt him. Then just last week, I decided to take him upstairs to live with me. And now this. Too much shuffling and moving around. It will be a long time until he can settle down and trust anyone.”

Nancy, who stood, hip propped against the stove, indicated the round wooden table in the corner. “Sit. I’m making tea. You want some?”

“Yes, please.” Lou sank into the soft cushion covering the chair, then gazed around, feeling thoroughly at home. All the warmth in this room had been created by Will and Nancy’s late mom, Lorna Jamison, a devoted homemaker and terrific cook, who had died two years after her husband’s untimely death in a railroad crash.

Nancy had not inherited her mother’s propensity for cozy homemaking; instead, the kitchen counters were strewn with books, file folders, old copies of the Courier. A pile of take-out pizza boxes were stacked on an old wicker chair in the corner.

As Lou turned to the other occupant at the table, he stood. “Excuse me for just a moment, will you?” Will said. “I need to make a couple of phone calls.”

After Lou had filled Nancy in on the break-in details, she managed to defer any questions about her evening with Will by asking how the wedding plans were going, which opened up a much more pleasant topic of conversation. As they sipped their tea, and Lou felt the hot liquid reaching the cold places and warming them up, Nancy explained that there was some kind of last-minute problem with the flowers. As the editor of a paper, Nancy was used to putting out fires and improvising solutions, so she was taking it all in stride; Bob, her fiancé, wasn’t. He wanted it all to be perfect, Nancy told Lou, and they both agreed that he was, by nature, both more detail-oriented and more romantic than Nancy.

“So what’s up with you and my brother?” Nancy asked finally, but Lou was rescued from having to answer by Will’s reentrance. Announcing she was thoroughly frazzled and exhausted, Nancy said she was going to bed. She gave Lou a quick conspiratorial wink as she left the room, which made her deeply uncomfortable. There was nothing “up” between her and Will.

But he’d kissed her tonight, hadn’t he? So maybe it wasn’t entirely absurd.

And what if he did kiss you? the voice of reason asked her. It was just that. One kiss.

A really nice kiss.

Which he’d broken off pretty quickly.

As he sat down, Will’s cell phone shrilled. He removed it from his pocket, flipped it open, announced, “Will Jamison here.” If he’d been expecting a specific call, this wasn’t it. Lou watched his face as, surprised, he said, “Oh. Hi.”

It was a woman. Lou knew it immediately, from the way he angled his body away from her just slightly and lowered his voice. “Fine. How about you?” He listened again, turned even farther away from her and said, “Yeah.”

Lou tried not to pay attention, really she did, but her imagination easily filled in the blanks. “How are you?” had been followed by “I miss you” and then “When are you getting back?”

Just then, Will said, “Monday.”

Yup, right on the money, Lou thought, and felt a piercing stab of jealousy. She immediately called herself all kinds of names for even feeling that way. Will had an entire life back in Washington she was not part of. He could even be serious about someone, for all she knew. He hadn’t mentioned that little fact, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t so.

She felt her heart sinking at the prospect of Will with someone he really cared about.

No. Not fair. Was she to spend her entire life mooning over a man who would never choose her?

But he kissed me.

Will hung up, smiled. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she said, brightly, then yawned. It was totally unexpected, as was the next one. And like that, she remembered: she was plain wiped out.

“I have to go to sleep, Will. I’ve been up since four.”

“You mentioned that earlier. Why?”

“We had a little rescue operation this morning. A feral mama cat and six little ones living under a house. The only way we could get them was to surround and surprise them in the dark.”

“Did it work?”

“Somewhat. We got two of the kittens and the mama. You saw her today.”

“Ah, the furious feline.” He smiled his crooked smile and, despite herself, her heartbeat kicked up a notch. “Make that the furious, frantic, feral feline. Kind of has a ring to it.”

“The very one.”

“What about the other kittens?”

“They got away.”

“What will happen to them?”

“They weren’t weaned yet, so most likely they’ll die, if they’re not eaten by a predator first.”

Will was startled, not by what Lou said but by the way she said it. Matter-of-factly, with just a hint of sorrow.

“God, that’s horrible,” he said.

“Yes, it is.” He watched as she tried to stifle another yawn. “It’s also the way nature works—the strong and the cunning survive. I do what I can, Will. It’s not much.”

She rose from the table and took her cup over to the sink. Will watched her small body, the dejectedness in her shoulders. She was so tired and so sad; he wanted to comfort her, as Nancy had done at the front door. Put his arms around her. Hug her.

And not just as a friend.

Man, this was strange. The call just now from Barbara—the financial adviser to a prominent member of the House—had reminded him of the kind of woman he was always attracted to. Independent and self-sufficient, with a high-powered career. Worldly, sophisticated, somewhat self-centered and somewhat cynical, like him.

Sure Lou had a career she loved, and she was both independent and self-sufficient. But she was a generous, giving soul who wore her heart on her sleeve. At her core, she was a nester, a nurturer. He’d always preferred women who were neither. It was easier that way to avoid emotional attachments.

Even so, there it was, that attraction he felt for her. Lou represented life. She cared, and cared deeply, about animals and people and all living things. Sure, she covered it up with a quick wit and occasional sarcasm, and sure, there were old scars and recent pain, but the woman was a definite survivor. Like a plant in the presence of the sun, she always sought the light.

That light was damned attractive to someone dwelling in the dark, as he had been till recently.

But it wasn’t only what she represented; it was Lou herself. He liked her, apart from anything else. Which was why he reminded himself to keep hands off for the rest of his time here in Susanville. He didn’t need any involvements, especially with a woman who wouldn’t treat it casually and whose heart he would break. Will knew himself all too well. He might have hated his father, the founder and editor of the town’s single newspaper, for his workaholic nature which kept him from his family. And in his determination not to follow in his father’s footsteps, he might have run away from working on the paper.

But with maturity, he had come to understand that he was just like the old man—tunnel-visioned and driven. Career came first. So he had decided he could avoid hurting others—avoid making them suffer the same destiny as his own family had suffered—by never getting too involved with a woman, thus avoiding the possibility of a family of his own.

At this point in his life, he might have lost his taste for reporting on the world’s pain and violence, but he hadn’t lost his ambition, his need to get ahead, his hunger to be more. It was what drove him, gave him energy and a reason to get up every morning.

He rose, walked over to Lou at the sink. As he gazed into the sad, scared, tired brown eyes of Lou McAndrews—a woman he’d known for years but felt he had met today for the first time—he took her hand, squeezed it comfortingly and smiled. “You go to bed now, get some sleep. You’re safe here. I’ll see you in the morning.”

After a quick moment of hesitation, she nodded and left the room. Will sat some more at the kitchen table, thinking.

Mostly about the calls he’d made earlier from his bedroom, following through on that niggling little notion that wouldn’t go away. He’d punched in Lincoln’s number at his D.C. condo. When no one picked up, he’d left a message. Then he’d tried his Florida home and his cell phone. No answer at either. Will left messages everywhere, asking that Linc call him ASAP. That it was important.

He checked his watch. Midnight. Lincoln had always been reachable before, but he might be out, carousing with buddies or with a woman, might have his cell phone turned off.

Well, he’d done all he could do. It was time for him to go to bed.

Will tossed and turned all night, thinking about not getting through to Lincoln, and going in and out of dreams about Lou, who was spending the night just down the hall in the guest bedroom, probably cuddled up with a small, black cat.

Will wished he were there in its stead.

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