“Devlin, wait! There’s something I have to show you!”

She reached for her purse. “I have a photo of Livie,” Karen explained quickly.

He glanced down at the photograph while she watched his face, waiting for some sign of awareness. There was none. Not yet.

“Her hair wasn’t curled for the picture,” she said. “It’s naturally wavy, and even darker than it looks here. And her eyes—you can’t tell in this—but her eyes are a dark blue.”

Devlin looked up, catching her gaze. “How old is your daughter?”

“Livie just turned three.”

When she thought she couldn’t endure another second of his silent scrutiny, he glanced at the picture again. “It isn’t possible. We took precautions.”

“Yes, and sometimes even the most careful precautions fail.”

“And just when,” he growled, “were you planning to tell me about her? Or, if I hadn’t turned you down just now, would you ever have told me at all?”

Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

We have another outstanding title selection this month chock-full of great romantic suspense, starting with the next installment in our TOP SECRET BABIES promotion. In The Hunt for Hawke’s Daughter (#605) by Jean Barrett, Devlin Hawke had never expected to see Karen Ramey once she’d left his bed—let alone have her tell him his secret child had been kidnapped by a madman. Whether a blessing or a curse, Devlin was dead set on reclaiming his child—and his woman.…

To further turn up the heat, three of your favorite authors take you down to the steamy bayou with three of the sexiest bad boys you’ll ever meet: Tyler, Nick and Jules—in one value-packed volume! A bond of blood tied them to each other since youth, but as men, their boyhood vow is tested. Find out all about Bayou Blood Brothers (#606) with Ruth Glick—writing as Rebecca York—Metsy Hingle and Joanna Wayne.

Amanda Stevens concludes our ON THE EDGE promotion with Nighttime Guardian (#607), a chilling tale of mystery and monsters set in the simmering South. To round out the month, Sheryl Lynn launches a new series with To Protect Their Child (#608).Welcome to MCCLINTOCK COUNTRY, a Rocky Mountain town where everyone has a secret and love is for keeps.

More action and excitement you’ll be hard-pressed to find. So pick up all four books and keep the midnight oil burning.…

Sincerely,

Denise O’Sullivan

Associate Senior Editor

Harlequin Intrigue

The Hunt for Hawke’s Daughter

Jean Barrett

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

If setting has anything to do with it, Jean Barrett claims she has no reason not to be inspired. She and her husband live on Wisconsin’s scenic Door Peninsula in an antique-filled country cottage overlooking Lake Michigan. A teacher for many years, she left the classroom to write full-time. She is the author of a number of romance novels. You can write to Jean at P.O. Box 623, Sister Bay, WI 54234.

Books by Jean Barrett

HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

308—THE SHELTER OF HER ARMS

351—WHITE WEDDING

384—MAN OF THE MIDNIGHT SUN

475—FUGITIVE FATHER

528—MY LOVER’S SECRET

605—THE HUNT FOR HAWKE’S DAUGHTER

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Karen Ramey—She faced a mother’s worst nightmare and a temptation she struggled to resist.

Devlin Hawke—The private investigator couldn’t refuse the woman from his past, but he feared her effect on him.

Livie—The little girl was a helpless pawn in a game of terror.

Michael Ramey—He guarded a horrifying secret.

Maud Dietrich—She was Karen’s friend and business partner, but could she be trusted?

Bonnie Wodeski—Michael’s assistant knew the truth, but would she live long enough to tell it?

Scott Wodeski—He was a frightened and unwilling player in his sister’s scheme.

Sheriff Neil Holland—He was overwhelmed by the situation.

Veronica Delgado—Her story was a credible one, but was she as innocent as she claimed?

Cassius Bennett—He was a frail old man who didn’t seem to know what was happening.

The Hawke family—Would Devlin ever let them matter to him again?

To the Grutzmachers of Passtimes Books

and to Roxanne of Book World.

Bless you for your years of support.

You’re the best.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Prologue

San Francisco—several years ago

“Oh, what a goddess you are!” he whispered eagerly. “Everything a man dreams of, and more!”

Her name was Antonia, and she had the sleek, classic lines of a creation so perfect, so thoroughly devoted to pleasure, that she could almost be defined as obscene. He didn’t care. She was worth every penny of what it had cost him to possess her.

“You’re mine now,” he gloated. “Every precious inch of you.”

Fletcher Stowe’s eyes glowed as they devoured her exquisite, gleaming surfaces. His aging, veiny hand trembled when he leaned forward from his motorized wheelchair to stroke the white leather that sheathed this portion of her elegant body.

Fletcher had told Dennis, his caretaker and bodyguard, to go away. He wanted to be alone with Antonia, to savor her at leisure and in private while she was still as fresh and untouched as a virgin. Tomorrow he would share her with the others, introduce her to his young bride, but tonight he wanted Antonia to be exclusively his.

Thirty-five million dollars. That’s what Antonia had cost him. Thirty-five million dollars of pure luxury delivered to him only hours ago. Almost two hundred feet from bow to stern, furnished with every high-tech system imaginable, fitted with exotic woods and precious fixtures, Antonia was already the envy of every yachtsman on the West Coast.

The crew would arrive tomorrow to prepare Antonia for her maiden voyage to Asia, which would also be Fletcher’s honeymoon cruise with his bride. But at this moment he and Dennis were alone on the yacht. Having toured its guest staterooms in his chair, admired the magnificent master suite he would share with Veronica and approved the entertainment room with its mahogany dance floor he would never use, Fletcher had reached the sky lounge.

It was his favorite of the several public rooms with its ceiling, as well as its walls, clad in white leather trimmed in Madagascar ebony and its six-foot-high windows framing views of the majestic San Francisco skyline. He parked his chair in front of one of those windows and gazed out at the winking lights, chuckling to himself.

This night was his triumph. He had fought them and won. They had all been against him, his family, his friends, his employees. They said the car accident had changed him, robbed him of his wits as well as the use of his legs. Said that he was old and foolish, the victim of a conniving young woman interested in nothing but his money.

One of his sons had tried to have him declared incompetent. The other had tried to gain control of his computer software company. They had both failed, along with their army of lawyers. Fletcher Stowe was still in charge of his accumulated millions.

“And I intend to go on spending them,” he chortled to the hills outside the window. “The frugal days are over.”

There was a six carat blue diamond ring locked away in the safe of his mansion. He was going to present it to Ronnie at the end of the week when they were married. They were already discussing plans for an extravagant new house. He would build it for her when they returned from their honeymoon. No expenses spared. She made Fletcher happy, which was more than either of his sons or his late wife had ever done for him.

He had survived the car accident. A near-death experience that had taught him his fortune meant nothing if he didn’t spend it. So now he was going to live. Starting tonight. Ronnie was waiting for him back at her apartment, and he was suddenly restless, anxious to join her.

Fletcher seized the small, two-way radio hanging from the arm of his chair and pressed the call button. “All right, Dennis,” he spoke into the mouthpiece, “I’m ready to leave.”

He waited a few seconds. There was no response. Irritated by the delay, he repeated his summons. “Dennis, I want to leave.”

Silence. Damn the fellow! Where was he? Fletcher had told his caretaker to leave him alone, not leave the yacht. If he had disobeyed and gone ashore….

He wasn’t used to being kept waiting. Angry now, he tried again. “Dennis, you’d better be there.”

Still no answer. There had to be a problem. Maybe it was a malfunction with the two-way, because even if Dennis had gone ashore he would have carried the instrument with him clipped to his belt.

No choice about it. Fletcher would have to go looking for him. Muttering his displeasure, he pivoted and headed for the nearest exit, his chair whirring softly. The Antonia had been fully equipped on every level for the comfort and convenience of his handicapped condition. The door slid open automatically as he approached it.

Once out on the covered deck, he lifted his head and shouted. “Dennis, I need you!”

There was no reply. Fletcher became aware of the lonely stillness. He wasn’t a nervous man, but suddenly he had a case of the jitters. Being bound to a wheelchair like this made him feel vulnerable. And it was late. There was no one down on the dock. He didn’t like it.

Nonsense. He wasn’t helpless. No reason at all to panic. Dennis had to be somewhere on the yacht. The crew quarters were located forward on the lower level. His caretaker-bodyguard would occupy one of those cabins. Probably he had gone down there to inspect that area. That’s where Fletcher would find him.

He rolled along the deck to the nearest of the two elevators. Ah, he was right. The indicator light revealed that the car was rising from the crew deck. Dennis was on his way up.

Fletcher faced the elevator, ready to lecture its occupant. The car arrived, the door whooshed back to reveal the caretaker inside. His brawny figure was sprawled on his back, staring sightlessly at the finely paneled ceiling overhead. Fletcher gazed in horror at the blood that was already caking around the wound in the man’s chest.

There was no sound behind him. But Fletcher knew. He could sense the danger. Alarmed, he whirled around in his chair. He had no time to cry out and only a second to register the image of a powerful revolver in a gloved hand. Then the weapon, equipped with a silencer, spat at him, drilling him cleanly through the forehead.

THE TWO homicide detectives leaned over the rail of the Antonia, watching the morning sun emerging through the mist that cloaked the bay. They were alone now on the yacht. The last of the assorted evidence-gatherers had departed from the crime scene.

“Got a nasty feeling about this one,” the heavier of the two men remarked.

“Yeah, I know. No witnesses, no real evidence, and the night watchman out at the gate said he didn’t see or hear a thing. Whoever pulled it knew just what they were doing.”

“And anyone with a worthwhile motive has a solid alibi.”

“The two sons?”

His partner shook his head. “Nope. Both of them conveniently elsewhere. One of them on vacation in Hawaii, the other in L.A. on business.”

“Hired killer?”

“Maybe, but try proving it.”

“So we go through the motions and hope for a break, which we probably won’t get.”

“Yeah.” He swung his bulk away from the rail and gazed along the impressive length of the luminous white yacht. “Some toy, huh?”

Chapter One

Minneapolis-St. Paul—the present day

“Good-looking sonofagun!”

Karen, who was having difficulty concentrating on anything but the collapse of her marriage, stared at the young assistant employed by her interior design firm. “Who?”

“This sexy guy I’ve been telling you about,” Robyn explained. “The one who was in here first thing this morning asking for you. He must be awfully anxious to see you because he stopped by again at noon, even though I told him we had no idea when you were arriving from Atlanta. Anyway, I promised him I’d give you his card the minute you walked in the door, which is what I’m trying to do if I can just find where I laid the danged thing….”

Robyn’s bright chatter was accompanied by her busy hands searching though the clutter on her desk. Karen was too hot and emotionally drained to be interested.

I should have gone straight home from the airport, she thought. Not come here. But the idea of being alone in the house with her defeat was unbearable. Soon enough to deal with all of that tonight when she faced Michael with her decision.

Besides, she had needed the reassurance that she knew Dream Makers would offer her. Its showroom, with the traditional fabrics and furniture that were a specialty of the interior design firm, told her that at least she could count this part of her life as a success.

Her friend and partner, Maud Dietrich, was on the phone occupied with a client. She had lifted her hand in welcome when Karen stepped through the door of the turn-of-the-century yellow brick building located off Hennepin Avenue. And that, too, was a comfort.

“Here it is!” Robyn announced triumphantly, handing her a rectangle of cream-colored pasteboard.

Karen, who had impatiently started to edge away from Robyn’s desk, accepted the card and glanced at it casually. The prominent logo of a golden hawk on its face leaped up at her. Clutching the card, she could suddenly hear the blood pounding in her ears.

“I’m having trouble imagining that this P.I. has come looking for you to redecorate his office,” Robyn said, too busy closing drawers she had opened in her search to notice her employer’s distress. “Not when that office is way out in Denver, anyway. Hey, maybe you’re a missing heir he’s trying to—” The sight of Karen’s face finally stopped her. “Are you okay, Mrs. Ramey? You look kind of flushed.”

Karen snatched at an excuse. “It’s the heat out there.”

True enough. The Twin Cities were wilting under a blast of summer heat, and it had been a long walk with heavy luggage to where her car had been parked at the air terminal.

Robyn nodded, but she continued to eye her with curiosity.

I must look as shaken as I feel, Karen thought, gazing again at the business card. The Hawke Detective Agency, it said. She had never told anyone about Devlin Hawke, neither Maud nor Michael, and she had no intention of trying to explain him now, and certainly not to Robyn.

“I have no idea why this P.I. wants to see me,” she said.

But Karen had a fearful suspicion of exactly why Devlin Hawke was here in the Twin Cities. His arrival, with what she already had to contend with regarding her marriage, couldn’t have happened at a worse time.

“Is he planning to show up here again today?” she asked Robyn.

The young woman shook her head. “He didn’t say. He sure looked like he had questions on his mind, though. I’m just glad he didn’t try asking them, because it would have been awfully hard not giving him whatever answers he wanted to hear.”

Yes, Karen thought, she knew all about Devlin Hawke’s rugged appeal and what it could obtain. But she didn’t want to remember that. Nor did she want to deal just now with his sudden reappearance in her life. Her mind and heart were already too heavy with the burden of her failed marriage.

She was tucking the business card in her purse, trying to bury it along with the image of the man it represented, when Maud got off the phone. The tall, attractive blonde rose from her desk and came forward to greet Karen.

“Sissy Baldwin,” she said, explaining the call with the slight trace of the accent she still bore, though she hadn’t lived in Germany since her childhood. “She was trying to reschedule that canceled visit you were going to pay her in Savannah after the trade show. I told her we’d have to let her know.”

Sissy Baldwin was a good client, Karen thought, but she could be a problem.

Head tipped to one side, Maud considered her. “So, how was the trade show?”

“Well, you know how exhausting they can be, and Atlanta was no exception.”

Maud didn’t press her for an explanation, but Karen knew that she had to be aware of her anguish. Her face always seemed to betray her emotions, even in moments when she was convinced she registered the look of a perfect stoic.

Maud deserved to know that she had used the trade show as an opportunity to get away on her own for some serious thinking, and that the tough decision she had reached had brought her home ahead of schedule. Karen would tell her everything, but not until after she faced Michael tonight.

“You do look beat,” Maud observed sympathetically. “Why don’t you just collect Livie from her sitter’s and go on home?”

Her partner’s suggestion was a strong temptation. She would have liked nothing better than to be with her daughter, but she resisted. “She’s scheduled right about now to go down for her nap, and I don’t want her routine upset.” This whole thing was going to be hard enough on Livie as it was.

Maud nodded understandingly, but Karen knew that her friend thought she was overprotective. Well, Maud wasn’t a mother, and even though Livie hadn’t suffered an asthma attack in months, Karen needed to be careful with her.

“Besides,” she added, “I have all these dealer quotes from the show that I want to log into the computer.” It was another excuse. She needed to keep busy.

The phone rang. Robyn answered it. “It’s the salvage outlet about that Victorian fireplace mantel,” she said.

Maud went to take the call. Karen used the opportunity to flee into the office off the rear of the showroom. Despite the air-conditioning, her face still felt warm. She didn’t know whether to blame it on shock or the sweltering weather.

Slipping into the bathroom that adjoined the office with its clutter of catalogs, wallpaper samples and designs in progress, she splashed cold water on her face. Then she spent several minutes at the mirror, combing her casual-style, jaw-length auburn hair and repairing her makeup.

Her wide hazel eyes stared back at her, a troubled expression in them. Well, why shouldn’t they look haunted? Dissolving a marriage was a painful prospect. Not that she expected Michael to object to her request for a divorce. He no longer seemed to care about anything.

What happened? Karen wondered. In the beginning Michael Ramey had been a loving husband and the perfect father for Livie. But in these last months he had turned into a glacial stranger.

Michael had refused to discuss their problem, wouldn’t agree to counseling. He just kept pulling away from her, becoming someone so remote she was no longer able to reach him. She had wondered at first if he was having an affair, but somehow that didn’t seem to be the explanation.

Maybe it was all her fault. Maybe she had deceived herself that she’d loved him because she had wanted so much to have a father for Livie. She had tried to be a good wife, needing perhaps to compensate for the passion that was never fully there in their marriage. And if Michael ultimately resented that…

She just didn’t know, but she refused to remain in an empty marriage.

Leaving the bathroom, Karen resolutely seated herself at the desk. She eyed the telephone while she waited for the computer to bring up the program she needed. Should she call Michael at his office, tell him she was no longer in Atlanta? No, bad idea. He would want to know why she was home ahead of schedule, and she didn’t want to risk getting into anything over the phone. They needed to be face-to-face for this.

She spent another moment struggling with the urge to call Livie’s sitter, longing for the reassurance that her three-year-old daughter was thriving but eager to see her mother. But that also wasn’t a good idea, not when she had called so often from Atlanta that first day and a half to check on Livie that Mrs. Gustafsson must have considered her a nuisance. Livie was in safe, capable hands, and she would be with her in another few hours. Karen could wait.

She began to enter her trade show data into the computer. When she found herself making repeated errors, her fingers drifted from the keys. It was no use. Though she was able to put Michael and Livie on mental hold, there was someone else who refused to go away.

Devlin Hawke. Why was he here, when in all this time he had never tried to contact her? Why now?

She tried to persuade herself she had nothing to worry about. Since Devlin was probably in Minneapolis in a professional capacity, he’d decided to look her up. Just wanted to say hello.

Yes, maybe. But then why had he visited Dream Makers twice in the same day? As if it was imperative that he see her. She didn’t like it. She kept remembering he was a private investigator, that collecting information was his business, and if he had somehow—

As if on cue, the office door opened. Robyn slipped into the room, a look of warning in her eyes. “The persistent P.I. is back.”

Karen’s heart sank. Devlin Hawke was about to intrude on more than just her thoughts.

“Do you want me to stall him?”

She knows I don’t want to see him, Karen thought, aware that her face must be guilty of its usual treachery. She had to be careful. She didn’t want either Robyn or Maud to start wondering why she was so reluctant.

“No, send him back.”

Robyn left. She got to her feet, willing herself not to be nervous. As she faced the door, she folded her hands beneath her breasts, fingers laced together. It was a familiar, unconscious pose meant to convey serenity. Only those who knew her intimately understood how deceptive it was, masking an inner turmoil.

Devlin found her like this when he entered the office seconds later. The first thing she noticed was that he wasn’t wearing the warm smile of an old friend paying a casual visit. His lean, good-looking face with its wide mouth and strong nose was as sober as a condolence. Not a good sign.

After that, she was aware of how his rangy, six foot body overwhelmed the small room. There had always been a latent power in him that she had found a little daunting. And that hadn’t changed.

She could see that those riveting blue eyes of his were busy reacquainting themselves with her in turn. He nodded slowly, as if satisfied by her slender figure and a face she had always considered as rather ordinary but which, to her secret pleasure, he had once insisted was eye-filling. His husky voice said as much.

“Looking good, Karen. I guess I forgot how good.”

She might have returned the compliment. His jaw was as square as ever, his thick hair as black. Only the grooves on either side of his mouth seemed more pronounced than she remembered. Not surprising that they should have deepened. He must be—what? Somewhere in his mid-thirties by now.

But she didn’t compliment him. It wasn’t safe. All she gave him was a pleasant, innocuous, “It’s nice to see you again, Devlin. Uh, sit down, please.”

She looked around for a chair for him. All of them were too dainty. She chose what was most likely to accommodate him, a gilded French fauteuil, and he settled on it. His hard, long-limbed body was too big for it, but he didn’t complain. She seated herself at the side of the desk facing him.

There was a moment of strained silence while those disturbing blue eyes of his captured her gaze and held it. She caught her breath and fought the memory of the incredible six weeks they had once shared.

He leaned toward her suddenly, his expression rigid. “I’m not going to waste words, Karen. This isn’t a social call. I’m here on business. Serious business.”

Here it comes, she thought, tensing to face the blow he was about to deliver.

He surprised her when he reached inside the breast pocket of his suit jacket and withdrew a photograph, which he placed on the corner of the desk with a brusque, “Will you identify this man for me, please?”

She stared at Devlin. This wasn’t the accusation she’d been expecting. What on earth—

“The photograph,” he reminded her.

She turned her head and lowered her gaze, her bewilderment deepening as she looked at the photograph. It was an informal shot of her husband, Michael Ramey. Not a very good one because the camera must have caught him when he was unaware of it. Like many people, Michael objected to having his picture taken, though he had no reason to mind. His features were good ones, if unremarkable, and he kept his body in trim condition.

“It’s your husband, Michael Ramey, isn’t it?” Devlin prompted her.

Then he already knew about her marriage to Michael. How had he learned of it? More importantly, why? “I think so,” she said cautiously.

“You’re not certain?”

Actually she was, though afraid to admit it. There was something wrong here, something she sensed she didn’t want to hear. “I’ve never seen this photograph before. If it is Michael, it was taken several years ago before I met him. He’s different here, a little more weight maybe and wearing the mustache. Where did you get this picture?”

“From my client, a woman back in Denver who hired me to find the guy you’re looking at. The man who calls himself your husband.”

She lifted startled eyes to Devlin’s face. “He is my husband.”

“Yeah, I know. I wasn’t idle while I waited for you to get back from wherever it is you went. I checked the records here in the city and learned Karen Howard married Michael Ramey two and a half years ago. It wasn’t what I wanted to discover.”

“I have to tell you,” she said slowly, “that you are beginning to scare me.”

“I wish I didn’t have to do this to you, Karen, believe me. But there’s no way around it. Michael Ramey, who was known as Kenneth Daniels back in Denver, was married to my client. Trouble is, he never bothered to divorce her when he walked out on her and disappeared three years ago.”

Jolted, Karen resisted his shocking allegation. “This is preposterous! You’ve got the wrong man! A—a look-alike!”

“Do you have a recent photo of Michael Ramey in your wallet, Karen? We could compare pictures.”

She shook her head. No, she had no pictures of Michael. The several that had existed, mostly from their wedding, had been destroyed. It happened when Michael cleaned out the closet in his study. By mistake, along with the other rubbish, he had carted the box of their photos stored there out to the trash. Karen had the uneasy feeling now that this accident, about which Michael had been so contrite at the time, might not have been an accident at all.

“But we really don’t need to compare photographs, do we, Karen?” Devlin pressed her solemnly. “Because there is no mistake. Kenneth Daniels and Michael Ramey are the same man.”

“Do you know what you’re telling me?” she whispered.

“Yeah, I know, and I’m sorry about it. But there’s no avoiding it. The man you thought you were legally married to is guilty of bigamy.”

Karen felt as if the floor under her chair was no longer solid, as if it had been rocked off its foundations. Bigamy was the kind of thing you saw in tabloid headlines. It always involved strangers in other places, never anyone you knew. So how could it be happening to her?

“Why?” she appealed to Devlin. “Why would Michael do such a thing?”

He shook his head. “I have no idea.”

She hadn’t really expected him to know, any more than she understood it herself. Michael Ramey, the man to whom she had been a loyal wife for two and a half years, was suddenly a complete stranger.

But she needed to understand what was happening to her. Questions swarmed into her mind. “This woman back in Denver, this—this other wife, has she been looking for him all this time?”

“No, it was only last week that she hired me to find him. Actually, she’d been granted a divorce from him almost two years ago on the grounds of desertion. But it still makes him a bigamist, since he married you before that divorce.”

“Then why is she trying to—”

“She has a successful fitness center in Denver, and she’s in the process of selling it. It’s her business, but Daniels, Ramey—whoever he is—was somehow involved in it. Her lawyer has advised her that, to avoid possible litigation, she needs him to sign away any claim.”

“Only last week,” Karen murmured, struggling to sort it out, “and already you’ve located him.”

“Sometimes you get lucky, and sometimes you have the right mother. She’s wicked when it comes to computers. Handles a lot of that end of the business for all of us. I sent her a copy of this photograph, and she did the rest.”

Karen remembered Devlin once telling her how his parents, who had founded the Hawke Detective Agency, managed the home office in Chicago, networking with all of the other nationwide branches of the firm operated by Devlin’s brothers and sisters.

“Ma posted the photograph, along with an inquiry, on the Internet,” he went on to explain. “We didn’t have to wait long for results.”

“Another agency responded?”

“Uh-uh. It was a teenager, one of your neighbors down the block. Kids like him live on the Internet. He recognized our man and contacted us. I flew into Minneapolis and spoke with the kid and his parents first thing this morning. I didn’t know then you were involved, Karen. I didn’t guess until the kid mentioned Michael Ramey had a wife of almost three years named Karen and that she was an interior designer. And after he’d described you…well, there didn’t seem to be much doubt, though I had to make sure of your marriage in the records.”

“So you came to Dream Makers. Why here, Devlin? It’s Michael you want. Why didn’t you go straight to Michael?”

“I tried. He wasn’t at your house or his office.”

“He’s away from the office a lot. He handles commercial real estate, which you probably learned, and that means showing properties to clients. His assistant, Bonnie, should have told you as much.”

“She wasn’t there either. Place was locked up.”

“Then she’s probably with Michael. Sometimes, when the deal is a complicated one, she goes with him. Why, Devlin?” she persisted. “Why come to me at all, when there’s the risk I’ll let him know you’re looking for him? When you could lose him before you’re able to reach him?”

Their eyes locked while she waited for his answer. For a breathless moment Karen felt the memories she had tried to resist flow between them like warm honey. Far too many of those memories were sensual ones. They might not have been a problem, had they remained just memories. Instead, they triggered an awareness of his potent presence. She could almost feel the heat of his solid body as he leaned toward her earnestly, could detect his clean masculine scent.

That she was capable of acknowledging an attraction that still existed, that she could recognize its potential sizzle, shocked her. How could she be experiencing such wildly dangerous emotions at this, of all times?

His voice was deep, almost gruff, when he finally answered her. “Learning it was you and not some stranger…well, it would have been pretty rotten of me not to warn you. I owed you that much.”

“Thank you.”

She watched him as he reclaimed the photograph and returned it to his inside breast pocket. His business suit was trim and dark blue. It gave him a dynamic image, but it seemed strange to see him clad so formally. The Devlin she had known had never dressed in anything but jeans and ski outfits. When he had worn anything at all, that is, but that was another memory she had to bury.

Perhaps Devlin, too, had memories he needed to tame, because he was all business again as he got to his feet. “I don’t have the right to ask you not to confront Ramey with everything I’ve just told you before I get the chance to see him,” he said, his voice almost curt, as if he didn’t trust himself to be sympathetic again. “I hope you won’t, but if you feel you don’t have a choice, then please make sure he understands I’m not a cop. I’m not here to arrest him, and I’m not interested in making any charges. All my client cares about is having him sign her papers I’ve brought with me.”

“And if he decides instead to disappear?”

“Then I’ll find him again,” he promised, and she knew he meant it.

Karen stood, and there was another precarious moment when the forceful blue eyes under the heavy black eyebrows sought hers. All out of nowhere the thought struck her that she need no longer consider herself a married woman. It was a treacherous idea. It even felt like an immoral one, and she quickly smothered it. She was suddenly anxious for Devlin to leave. But, maddeningly, he lingered.

“Did your assistant give you my business card?”

“Yes.”

“My cell phone number is listed on it. Use it if you need me.”

“Yes.” Why didn’t he just go? She wanted to be alone so she could try to deal with this monstrous thing.

“It may be necessary for you to sign a deposition. You’ll have to consult your lawyer about just what your situation is legally.”

“Yes.”

There was another uncomfortable pause. What was he waiting for now?

“If we had to go and meet again, Karen,” he finally said, his voice raspy with emotion, “I would have wished for it to be anything but this.”

HE WAS FINALLY GONE. She was mercifully alone again. Too dazed to go on standing, she sank back into her desk chair. She sat there, struggling to accept what she had just learned. Devlin was too careful an investigator to have brought her anything but the truth. She could no longer question it.

Bigamy! Michael was guilty of bigamy, and she was his victim!

Whatever had vanished from their relationship, it was a cruel blow to learn that her marriage to him had been nothing but a lie. Which meant everything he had shared with her about his past—and she realized now it wasn’t all that much—must also be a lie. Then exactly who was Michael Ramey, and what other secrets might he be guarding?

Whatever the explanation, she would no longer need to seek a divorce since it seemed she had never been legally married to him in the first place. It occurred to her there was a terrible irony in that.

All of this was too agonizing. She didn’t want to think about it anymore. Livie. She wanted to be with Livie, to hold her securely in her arms. She longed for someone she could trust and who trusted her, someone who belonged to her without question in a world that suddenly seemed shadowed with uncertainties. Only her daughter could satisfy her need.

Maud and Robyn must have thought her a little crazed when she rushed away from Dream Makers a few minutes later after the most inadequate of explanations. But they didn’t try to delay her with questions she was in no mood to answer. Claiming her blue Camry from the parking garage across the street, Karen drove across the Mississippi River into St. Paul.

The tree-shaded house was located near one of the colleges and not far from a park. It had a soothing quality about it. There was an old-fashioned glider on the front porch and a fenced yard in the back with a sandbox and a playhouse.

Parents were grateful for Mildred Gustafsson. A retired kindergarten teacher, she provided their children with superior care. One of her toddlers, an inquisitive boy named Joey, peered around her leg when she answered Karen’s ring.

“Mrs. Ramey!” The lanky woman, who seemed far younger than her mature years, was a little startled to find Karen standing on her porch.

“I know this is way ahead of the usual hour we pick Livie up. But I got back from Atlanta earlier than scheduled, so I thought I’d collect her now. She’s not still napping, is she?”

Mildred Gustafsson looked bewildered. “But Livie isn’t here.”

Karen felt her stomach lurch sickeningly. “What do you mean she’s not here? She has to be here.”

“I thought you knew. I thought he must have told you. Mrs. Ramey, your husband came for Livie yesterday morning. She’s with her father.”

Chapter Two

Devlin had been far too busy to think of food. It wasn’t until he came away from Dream Makers that he realized he hadn’t eaten anything since the plane that had brought him from Denver. Locating a fast-food joint, he ordered a burger and fries and carried them out to his rental car.

It was midafternoon by the time he polished off his belated lunch, and the sun was hot. Even though he had removed his suit coat and tie and rolled up his sleeves, it was much too warm to go on sitting here in an unshaded parking lot. But that’s exactly what he did.

He had an unconscious habit of whistling a slow tune whenever he was considering all the angles of a difficult case. Or when he was dealing with an emotional situation he didn’t like. And since that was exactly what he was experiencing now, he began to whistle so softly that the result was almost inaudible. But the action enabled him to concentrate.

He’d made a mistake, a serious one, in going to see Karen. Even though it would have been an insensitive way to give her the brutal truth about the man she’d married, he should have handled it by phone or even left a letter for her with her assistant. But he hadn’t expected after almost four years to find himself aching in the gut at the sight of the woman. Never mind how that sweet mouth and lithe body affected another area of his anatomy, stirring unwanted memories of the fantastic nights they had shared in that Colorado chalet. He could still see the snow drifting through the evergreens on the mountain outside the window while a fire blazed on the bedroom’s stone hearth. Not that they had needed its warmth. They had created their own heat.

What was he doing? This was stupid. Getting all nostalgic about something that had ended badly. Because if he was going to start examining memories, then he’d better focus on the only one that had any reality. She’d abruptly left him and flown back to Minneapolis, making it clear that her goodbye was a permanent one. No real explanation, just as though she’d offered him some blithe: Been fun, babe, but gotta go.

Funny. Devlin would have sworn that, unlike the women who usually appealed to him, Karen Howard’s values were traditional ones. That, because of the intenseness of their relationship, she might have been interested in exploring a more lasting connection. But, as intimate as the two of them had been, he hadn’t really known her, even though they had been together for many weeks.

He’d told himself he was lucky, that a commitment was the last thing he wanted, anyway. The truth was, she had hurt him when she walked away without a backward glance. Hurt him for a long time, though eventually he’d managed to forget all about her. Or so he had believed. But now…

Damn, this was no good. Even if, technically, she wasn’t a married woman, he needed to stay away from her. He’d learned this afternoon that he couldn’t trust himself anywhere near her, and he sure as hell didn’t want to be wounded again. For all he knew, she was madly in love with the bastard who had deceived her, would forgive him and go on loving him.

Checking his watch, Devlin decided it was time to head back to Michael Ramey’s office, which was located near the Metrodome. If Ramey still wasn’t there, he was prepared to wait for him. This was the part of his work that he hated, spending long hours in a parked car watching a building and hoping your objective turned up before your backside went totally numb.

He’d hoped surveillance wouldn’t be necessary, that Karen could have told him exactly where to find Ramey. Actually, it had been his major reason for seeing her. Yeah, sure it was.

Starting the car, he left the parking lot and edged out into the traffic. He knew that, if Ramey didn’t show by closing time, he had no other choice. Despite his promise to avoid Karen, he would need to go to their home.

He was still whistling softly as he neared the Metrodome. Still trying to understand why she had turned her back on him four years ago.

KAREN FOUGHT for self-control as she faced Mildred Gustafsson on her front porch. She tried to quiet the panic that gripped her.

“What you’re telling me—I don’t understand it. Why did he take Livie?”

The woman was concerned, but she also looked uncomfortable with a situation that had suddenly become awkward. “There’s nothing to be worried about, is there, Mrs. Ramey? I mean, he is Livie’s father. He had every right to—”

“What did he tell you?”

“That, since you were going to be gone for a few days, he’d decided to spend some quality time with his daughter. I understood that he was going to forget work and that they were going to enjoy a little holiday together until your return. Livie was all excited about it when he told her, though I’m not sure she actually understood—”

“Where? Where were they going?”

“Now that he didn’t say. I suppose he could have meant just a holiday at home with outings around the city, like the zoo and that new kiddie park. But, of course, if you’ve been to your house already—”

“I haven’t—not yet.”

“Well, there you go. When you get home you’ll either find them there or an explanation of where they’ve gone.”

Karen shook her head. “He should have told me what he was planning. I should have known about it beforehand.”

The apprehension must have been all too evident on her face. The woman placed a reassuring hand on her arm. “I had the impression it was a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing but that he would let you know. There’s probably been a mix-up. He could very well have left a message at your hotel in Atlanta, and they neglected to get it to you.”

Karen knew that Mildred Gustafsson didn’t share her fear. Why should she when Michael Ramey had always been a responsible, devoted father? The woman was convinced it was nothing but a misunderstanding.

The little boy, Joey, had followed Mildred out to the porch and was now pulling at her slacks, demanding attention. Karen had no further reason to keep her, and she didn’t think anything could be gained by telling her about Michael’s bigamy. In any case, she was anxious to get home.

Back in her Camry, making every effort to hurry through the frustrating traffic, she tried to tell herself that her alarm was needless. That her recent discovery about Michael could in no way be connected with this, that he wouldn’t have taken Livie and just disappeared. Nothing to be scared about. Michael would never hurt Livie. Just as Mildred Gustafsson insisted, it was all a mix-up. An innocent mix-up.

But why hadn’t Michael made certain she knew about this holiday of his? Knew about it and approved of it. She had a bad feeling driven by a powerful maternal instinct, and she couldn’t shake it. She wanted Livie with her, and she wanted her now.

Her heart was racing with anticipation, and a prayer for delivery from her growing anguish, as she came in sight of their home on Summit Avenue. The house behind a cast-iron fence was a shingled Victorian with a mansard roof and dormers. It was in no way as large and imposing as its red sandstone neighbors along St. Anthony’s Hill, but it had always given Karen pleasure. Now it was nothing more to her than a property that was too expensive because Michael wanted luxuries and could afford them.

One of those luxuries was the tan BMW that he drove, which she hoped to find parked in the drive. It wasn’t there. When she let herself into the house, there was no familiar squeal of her daughter galloping to meet her at the door on a pair of chubby legs. There was no sound at all. The place wore the silence of desertion.

Karen went from room to room searching for a note that Michael might have left for her, checking the answering machine for a possible message from him. Nothing. She was trembling with terror when she went upstairs to look into his closet. Suppose it was empty, all of his things gone? She kept thinking about that other wife in Denver and how Michael had left her without an explanation and how she had never heard from him again. But this was different. This time he had Livie with him.

Her relief, when she went into his closet and found his suits still hanging there, lasted only a moment. Looking further, she discovered that some of his more casual clothing was missing, along with a pair of their suitcases. And several items of Livie’s clothes had been taken from her bedroom as well.

They weren’t spending a holiday at home. They had left the city, and she had no knowledge of their destination.

Trying to remain calm, Karen went to the phone. She rang Michael’s office. No one picked up. Then she tried to reach his assistant, Bonnie, at her apartment. Again no answer. She began to phone friends and neighbors. But Michael had confided in none of them. No one had seen him leave. No one knew where he had gone.

She was frantic by now, unable to convince herself he had merely taken Livie on a short vacation somewhere. Something was wrong. Very wrong. She knew it.

No longer hesitating, she called the police. While she waited for a patrol car to arrive, she made an effort to contact her lawyer. Aggravating. With the long Fourth of July weekend coming up, people were already out of town. He was among them.

Minutes later, she was seated in her kitchen with a uniformed officer who listened to her politely. Even before she finished expressing her deepening anxiety, she knew he wasn’t going to help her. She could see it in his narrow face. And she could hear it in the way he cleared his voice when he finally responded.

“Ma’am, I don’t see that we can do anything for you. This doesn’t qualify as a child abduction or a denial of custodial rights. If your husband legally adopted the little girl, he’s entitled to have her with him.”

“But they’re gone!”

“On vacation for a few days while you were supposed to be out of town. That’s what you say your sitter told you, and there’s no reason to think otherwise, even if he did neglect to inform you of his intention. Ma’am, he hasn’t broken any law.”

She wanted to shout that Michael Ramey had violated the law, that he was guilty of bigamy. That he might not even be Michael Ramey. But she didn’t think it was wise to bring a charge like this before she talked to her lawyer.

Instead, Karen made the mistake of pleading, “But you don’t understand! Livie is vulnerable!”

He frowned. “How do you mean, ma’am?”

“She suffers from asthma! She hasn’t had a severe attack in some time, but that’s because I’m careful! Now she’s out there somewhere with him, and anything could happen!”

She couldn’t manage to keep the note of hysteria out of her voice, couldn’t stop herself from sounding like an overprotective mother whose imagination had run away with her. And, infuriatingly, that’s just how he judged her. He offered soothing reassurances, telling her that her husband would surely keep Livie safe, telling her that she had nothing to worry about. Like Mildred Gustafsson, he recognized no threat.

I should have told him about the bigamy, Karen thought after the officer left. It might have made all the difference. But somehow, at this point, she didn’t really think so. He would have regarded it as a separate issue. And although he would have promised her a police investigation around the accusation, it would have meant a delay. No immediate action where Livie was concerned, which was all that she cared about at this point.

Then who could she turn to, if not the police? There had to be someone prepared to believe this awful fear coiling through her insides was not just the behavior of a paranoid mother. Someone who would help her to recover Livie.

But, of course, there was someone qualified to do just that. Nor was this the first time she had thought about him in connection with her missing daughter. Even before she had called the police, he had crossed her mind. Then she had immediately dismissed him as a possibility. The risk in involving him was too obvious.

And there may be an even greater risk to Livie if you don’t.

Oh, this was absurd! Why was she hesitating when she ought to be thinking of nothing but Livie’s welfare? Devlin Hawke was a solid investigator with a family network behind him. It was all she needed to care about. That and convincing him to help her.

Silencing any lingering resistance, Karen got to her feet and went over to the counter where she had tossed her purse. She found the business card with his cell phone number on it. Lifting the receiver off the wall, she dialed the number. He answered almost immediately, his voice brisk.

“Devlin Hawke.”

She wanted to sound calm and composed when she spoke to him and regretted that, instead, her voice was breathless with emotion. “It’s Karen. You said if I needed you I should call. I need you, Devlin.”

There was a moment of strained silence from him. He had to be in his car somewhere. She could hear the muffled sounds of traffic, and she could sense his reluctance before he responded with a husky, “Where are you?”

“At home.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

And that was all. There was a click. He had hung up without asking for an explanation. It didn’t matter. He was coming, and for the first time since learning Livie was gone, she dared to feel hope.

Far too anxious to just sit and wait, Karen wandered restlessly through the rooms she had planned so carefully with their antiques, comfortable chairs and deep sofas. Rooms she had been proud of, but which suddenly meant nothing.

Livie had left one of her toy animals on a chair in the hall. She leaned over and picked it up, holding it close. It was a kind of connection. When she straightened, she found herself gazing without interest at her collection of Victorian fans mounted on the wall.

She had other collections throughout the house. Far too many of them. Things that had accumulated over the years, many of which were not particularly valuable, or even had sentimental associations, but which she couldn’t bear to let go.

She supposed any amateur psychologist could have told her they were substitutes for what she had lacked growing up. She would have agreed with him, but not because she’d had few possessions in her childhood. It was family she had missed and longed for. There had been none.

Her single mother had died when she was an infant. No father, no relatives. None that anyone had been aware of, anyway. Karen had been raised in a series of foster homes, all of them kind and protective but ultimately leaving her disconnected. It was why she’d always been so determined that Livie should never experience that kind of insecurity.

Did it also partly explain her powerful attraction to Devlin Hawke almost four years ago? It probably did, because she had never stopped envying him his big family. Of course, she hadn’t known about that family when she’d first met him in a Colorado ditch.

One of Dream Makers’s wealthy Minneapolis clients had hired Karen to supervise a redecoration of his vacation home outside of Aspen. Being a native of the Twin Cities, Karen knew all about driving in snowy conditions. But, as she discovered to her dismay, flat terrain in heavy snow is not the same as a mountain road in heavy snow. She’d been on her way to town to meet with a cabinetmaker when she landed her rental car in that ditch.

Devlin, returning from a day of skiing to the little chalet a Denver friend had loaned him for several weeks, had arrived on the scene in his sports utility vehicle to rescue her. Actually, all he had provided was a lift to the nearest garage, but she had been too dazzled by the cleft in his chin and a pair of intriguing blue eyes to define his action as anything but heroic.

Everything after that had been an intoxicating blur. She did remember learning the essentials about him. That he was a private investigator. That he lived in Denver where he had opened the first branch of the Hawke Detective Agency. That he was the eldest son in a family of three boys and two girls.

It was the last that had impressed her. She recalled wondering how he could bear to be so far away from his family back in Chicago. She wouldn’t have been separated from them for anything. But it was understandable. Devlin loved skiing. That would make him want to be near the slopes.

Beyond that, she hadn’t bothered with the details of his life. They had been much too busy exploring other interests in each other. It still staggered her to remember how immediate and all-consuming their passion had been. Being largely inexperienced in that area, she had no yardstick to measure what they shared. But surely it was special, a rapture that was more than just temporary. Almost six weeks later reality took an enormous bite out of Karen’s naive bliss.

They had been on their way to visit a popular coffee bar in Aspen. Passing a flustered young mother on the sidewalk dealing with a pair of howling twins no more than six months old, Devlin had shuddered.

“Look at that,” he muttered. “She’s practically a kid herself, and she’s trapped. Bad enough to deal with one of them in diapers. But two of them at the same time? Never!”

It was in the coffee bar afterwards that she heard everything she wished she’d dragged out of him before his strong arms had raised her out of that snow-filled ditch, and certainly before those blue eyes had impacted hers. But she was hearing it all now. How the ski slopes of Colorado had been an excuse to put distance between himself and his family. How he’d broken up with a woman back in Denver because she’d suddenly started talking about her biological clock ticking.

“But don’t you expect to ever have children of your own one day?” she had asked him, and was stung by his reaction.

“Hell, no. I’m not father material.”

“Even though you come from a big family? Don’t they matter?”

Yeah, sure, he guessed he loved his family, but not when they were always in his face. Not when they were smothering him, thank you.

He had sounded so resentful, almost bitter, that he had shocked her. And he had opened her eyes. Opened them wide and clear. Whatever the magic of their togetherness, whatever compelling emotion she had convinced herself they had invested in each other, Karen had badly misjudged him. Because other than incredible sex, she and Devlin Hawke had absolutely nothing in common. Why, he had thrown away the very thing she longed for!

Get out now, her head warned her, before it’s too late. But her heart feared it might already be too late. She was halfway in love with him by then. Probably even more than halfway. Yet, feeling as he did, there could be no hope of their relationship going anywhere—at least not in any direction she wanted.

It cost her a great deal of pain and effort to part from him, but Karen knew if she lingered in Aspen she would eventually pay an even greater price. She didn’t try to explain her departure to him. What was the point? Determined to avoid an agonizing scene, she left him as pleasantly as possible and flew back to Minneapolis where she grieved for weeks.

And in the end she met and married the man who seemed to want everything Devlin Hawke hadn’t. Now, ironically, she was turning to Devlin to help her find that man. She was a desperate mother. There was no one else.

“LET ME GET THIS CLEAR,” Devlin said. “You have a daughter, and you’re convinced her father has taken off with her somewhere, and you want to hire me to find them.”

“Yes.”

Karen, tense with expectation, waited for him to ask her Livie’s age. He didn’t, at least not then. He was silent for a moment, absorbing her information. She watched his face in the glow of the late afternoon sun that poured through the window of the plant-filled kitchen where they sat. His good-looking features registered no expression. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking. She could only pray that he wouldn’t react like Mildred Gustafsson and the police officer, that he would determine her concern was a legitimate one. She trusted him to believe her. It was why she had called him.

“All right,” he finally said, “let’s start with some possibilities.”

“Like what?”

“Like supposing this is an innocent holiday.”

“But it’s not.”

“But if it were,” he persisted, “where would he have gone with her? Is there some favorite vacation spot, family or friends out of town they could be visiting?”

She shook her head emphatically. “No, nothing like that. Don’t you think I would have made every effort to contact them if there were? Devlin,” she pleaded with him, “there’s something very wrong. I just know there is.”

“Convince me,” he challenged her.

“Michael has…well, he’s been a stranger lately.” She went on to tell him how her husband had become remote and indifferent to her and how, after repeated efforts to reach him, she had concluded that a divorce was unavoidable.

One of Devlin’s eyebrows lifted when she mentioned her decision to part from Michael, but his only reference to it was an indirect, “Did the two of you have any major quarrel before you left for Atlanta? Couples sometimes punish each other by using the kids as weapons.”

“No, he wasn’t angry. He was just distant. Except, underneath that detachment…”

“What?” Devlin encouraged her.

“I’m not sure. He was hard to read, but there could have been—oh, a kind of intenseness is the word for it, I guess. Like something was happening with him, or about to happen.”

“Could be there’s an explanation for that. Could be that—” He broke off, tugging at his collar and glancing around the kitchen. “Do you think we could have a window open? It’s warm in here.”

“I’m sorry. The air-conditioning doesn’t seem to be working.” Getting to her feet, she crossed to the nearest window. It resisted her effort when she tried to raise it. “It’s stuck, I’m afraid.”

“Here, let me.” Leaving the table where they had been seated, he joined her at the window.

She moved aside so that he could get at the sash. “It’s probably swollen shut from disuse. We never open any of the windows. It’s because of Livie,” she explained. “She has asthma. The doctor recommended filtered air in the house and no pets. Even her toys are allergen-free.”

“Is it serious?”

“She has had some bad attacks. None lately, thank heaven.”

“Maybe she’s growing out of it. Kids do.”

“How would you know that?”

“Because I suffered from asthma myself as a kid, and I grew out of it.”

“Oh.”

“There.” With one sharp tug, he lifted the sash. When he turned away from the window and faced her, his expression was sober. “What I was about to say around this business of your husband’s remoteness….”

“Yes?”

“It doesn’t surprise me. Karen, I’ve heard this before. I heard it from his other wife. She described the same behavior occurring just before he walked out on her. And if it is a pattern, I think you have to face the fact that he may have been getting ready to leave you like he left my client in Denver.”

“But if that’s true, why would he want Livie with him? He’s her father, yes, and he cares about her, but she’s never been vital to him.”

“I don’t know. People living secret lives aren’t predictable. And if your husband committed bigamy, and we know he did, then he is living a secret life.”

Karen’s shoulders sagged under the intolerable weight of a situation that was no longer just a strong possibility to her but an absolute conviction. “Dear God, he means to disappear, as he did before, and if Livie vanishes with him—Devlin, what if I never see her again? You have to find her for me!” she appealed to him urgently. “You have to promise—”

“Easy,” he said, placing a steadying hand on her arm.

She could feel the tears of desperation welling in her eyes, could feel herself coming apart. “I can’t bear this!”

It was an understandable reaction when he took her in his arms and rocked her slowly in an effort to soothe her. It felt familiar, and it felt right being held against the solid, secure wall of his chest. As though she belonged there. And even when his arms tightened around her, she didn’t resist. There was nothing wrong in accepting comfort that was offered in a moment of despair. Even if there had been, how could she be unfaithful when she no longer had a husband to be faithful to?

“You were going to ask him for a divorce,” Devlin probed, as if reading her. “That’s what you said, isn’t it?”

“There was nothing left to save,” she murmured.

“No doubts about your decision? No guilt?”

“Before you told me I wasn’t legally married to Michael? Yes, I suppose then I was feeling some of both. But not now when he’s deceived me! Not after he’s taken Livie!”

She realized too late that her fierce admission could easily be misunderstood. That Devlin could define it as a kind of invitation. Whatever the impetus, the innocent embrace turned into something intimate and dangerous.

There was a sensual quality now in the way his splayed hands shifted against her back, his fingers stroking down her spine, then moving around her rib cage and up to the sides of her breasts. Karen felt her flesh sear under his slow caresses. She could hear his breathing quicken with his arousal, could scent his strong, masculine aroma.

A few seconds more and she would be tasting him. His mouth would be on hers, devouring her in one of those deep, prolonged kisses she remembered so vividly from almost four years ago. But it was not his intention that shocked her. It was her longing for it.

The whole thing must have shocked Devlin as well because he suddenly released her, almost shoving her away. They stared at each other, silently sharing the same thought.

This is a mistake. This must not happen again.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Your kid is gone, you’re sick with worry, and I go and—” He raked a hand through his dark hair. “Look,” he said, “this isn’t going to work. There are other P.I.s, and they’re right here in the Twin Cities. I’ll check them out, phone you with a recommendation.”

He started to back away toward the side door to the driveway. Karen knew he was probably right, that it would be safer for both her and Devlin if she used another investigator. Safer for them, perhaps, but not safer for Livie. She needed someone absolutely committed to recovering her daughter. And only Devlin Hawke had a reason for moving heaven and earth to find Livie. Maybe.

It was time to find out if he did. Time to give him the truth, whatever the risk. His hand was reaching for the doorknob when she stopped him.

“Devlin, don’t go! You can’t go!”

He gazed at her, impatient to make his escape. “Karen, this is no good. It’ll only lead to trouble for us if I stay and work with you. You saw that just now. You know it’s true.”

“You have to help me find Livie,” she insisted. “It—it’s your responsibility.”

He frowned at her, his hand now on the knob directly behind him. “And just how do you figure that?”

She didn’t answer him. She didn’t know how to tell him what he needed to hear. He was still frowning at her.

“You’ve been holding something back. What is it?”

As usual, the expression on her face must be giving her away, she thought. And he would be shrewd about reading people’s expressions. As a P.I., he would have to be. He waited, and still she couldn’t bring herself to tell him. She simply didn’t know where to begin a revelation that was so potentially explosive. His shoulders lifting in a little shrug, he turned to go. But she couldn’t let him walk out that door! Desperation inspired her with the opening she sought.

“Devlin, wait! There’s something I have to show you!”

To her relief, his hand fell away from the knob. He even drifted toward her again a few steps. “All right, show me.”

She reached for her purse. “I told you at Dream Makers that I don’t carry a photograph of Michael,” she explained quickly, extracting her wallet and flipping it open. “But I do carry a photo of Livie.”

He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, impatient again. “Karen, if you think showing me a picture of your kid is going to move me to—”

“Just look, will you?”

She came forward to where he stood, extending the open wallet. He took it and glanced down at the photograph inside the clear plastic sleeve while she watched his face, waiting for some sign of awareness. There was none. Not yet.

“Her hair wasn’t curled for the picture,” she said, trying to help him. “It’s naturally wavy, and even darker than it looks here. And her eyes—you can’t tell in this—but her eyes are a dark blue.”

“Uh-huh.”

He wasn’t interested. He hadn’t seen.

“Not like Michael’s blond hair and gray eyes,” she said, striving to encourage his recognition.

This time there was a flicker of suspicion on his face. He looked up, catching her gaze. “How old is your daughter?”

“She’s small for her age. I sometimes wonder if the asthma—”

“How old?” he demanded gruffly.

“Livie just turned three.”

“Which means she was born before you married Michael Ramey two and a half years ago.”

“Michael is her stepfather, Devlin,” she told him softly. “Not her natural father. He adopted her after we were married.”

Devlin’s gaze dropped again to the picture in his hand. He stared at it for a long time, a muscle twitching in his square jaw. And while she waited, she clasped her hands together below her breasts in that familiar pose she unconsciously adopted in moments of intense anxiety.

When she thought she couldn’t endure another second of his silent scrutiny, he lifted his gaze. There was disbelief in his eyes. “It isn’t possible. We took precautions.”

“Yes, and sometimes even the most careful precautions fail.”

“Are you sure that she’s mi—”

“Don’t say it,” she cut him off, her anger stirring, “because there was no one else!” Did he think she was so devious, so unprincipled that she would lie about his being Livie’s birth father just to enlist his help in finding her?

Uttering a savage obscenity, he snapped the wallet shut and slapped it down on the counter beside him. An action which could have been rejection or simply rage. Then he looked at her with those stormy blue eyes, his face rigid with accusation while fear swelled inside her.

She could bear his anger. If he never forgave her, she would understand and accept it. What terrified her was the possibility that he would utterly deny his daughter or, just as bad, surprise her by demanding rights she wasn’t prepared to surrender.

“And just when,” he growled, “were you planning to tell me about her? Or, if I hadn’t turned you down just now, would you have ever told me at all?”

“How could I tell you before now? You made it altogether clear back in Aspen that you wanted no part of fatherhood.”

“After knowing me only a month, how the hell could you be so certain exactly what I wanted or didn’t want?”

“Six weeks,” she corrected him. “We were together for six weeks.”

“Yeah, well, that makes it even worse.”

“It was long enough to realize that the responsibility of parenthood horrified you.”

Like it might have horrified the man who had fathered her, Karen thought. The man who had never been there for her. Had he learned of her existence and rejected her, leaving her mother a single parent? The possibility had haunted Karen her entire life. It was why she had turned to Michael Ramey to provide a father for Livie.

“I wasn’t the one who ran away from Aspen,” Devlin reminded her bitterly. “That was you, Karen. Remember?”

“Yes, I know. And I should have contacted you when I got back here and learned I was pregnant, but…”

“What?”

“Weeks had passed by then. And there’d been nothing but silence. You hadn’t made any effort to reach me, so I could only suppose you didn’t care.”

“And that’s reason enough not to inform me I was going to be a father?”

“No, it wasn’t. I admit that. And it wasn’t morally right to let all this time pass without ever telling you about Livie. But I wanted things to be perfect for her, not her life getting split between Colorado and Minnesota. No complications like that. Just one solid home, one family and one father who cared. It was a mistake, and I’m paying for it now.”

“I’ll tell you another mistake you made,” Devlin informed her, his voice hard and unforgiving. “You went and assumed that, if you told me now about my kid, there’d be no way I could refuse to go out there with you looking for her. You were wrong.”

Karen’s heart dropped like a stone when he abruptly swung around and slammed out of the house.

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