There’s something about Julie

Hunter Rafferty is committed to two things: his bachelor lifestyle and his career as an event planner. But working with Julie Fairbanks on a fund-raising gala is quickly becoming the best part of his day. He can’t stop thinking about the mysterious beauty—despite her refusals to have dinner with him.

Everything changes when seven-year-old Joy comes to The Lemonade Stand, a shelter for victims of abuse. To help Joy overcome her trauma and the mystery surrounding it, Hunter and Julie push beyond their boundaries, confronting their own past pain...and feelings for each other.

“Just be yourself, Hunter. She likes you.”

“I truly have no idea how you talk to a child,” he said. “I’m guessing golf scores aren’t going to do it. And probably not surfing, either.”

His chuckle made her smile. Which sent warning notes through her. She was not going to soften toward this man.

Some man. Someday. Sure. If she was attracted to one she felt she could trust.

But not this man. Not a charmer.

“You talk to her like she’s a person,” Julie said. “I think back to when I was a kid and pull from that.”

His attention, fully on her now, warmed her all up again.

She was there to help him for Joy’s sake. She had to get it done.

And get out.

Dear Reader,

Joy is the pinnacle of good feeling for those of us living within the human condition! And for those of us who are parents? Holding your child in your arms, hearing his or her voice, watching him grow… These are some of the most joy-filled moments ever.

They’re also the moments that make us the most vulnerable ever. Because the shadowy side of joy—the loss of joy—is excruciating. It can be debilitating. We’ll go to any lengths to avoid it, to prevent harm from happening to our children. That’s what Joy’s mother does: she puts herself in jeopardy to protect Joy. So that the child might know joy.

And in this story, the child brings joy to those who are there to help her.

The source of joy isn’t just children—the source is infinite, spreading itself more thoroughly than the worst disease (the shadowy side) ever could. It’s here where I am and there where you are, touching us both and millions of others. And it’s up to us, each one of us individually, to let it in. A lesson Julie Fairbanks, a haunted soul, has to learn. For Joy’s sake.

I love to hear from my readers. Please find me at www.tarataylorquinn.com, Facebook.com/tarataylorquinn and on Twitter, @tarataylorquinn. Or join my open Friendship board on Pinterest, Pinterest.com/tarataylorquinn/friendship!

All the best,

Tara

For Joy’s Sake

Tara Taylor Quinn

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Having written over eighty novels, TARA TAYLOR QUINN is a USA TODAY bestselling author with more than seven million copies sold. She is known for delivering intense, emotional fiction. Tara is a past president of Romance Writers of America. She has won a Readers’ Choice Award and is a five-time finalist for an RWA RITA® Award, a finalist for a Reviewers’ Choice Award and a Booksellers’ Best Award. She has also appeared on TV across the country, including CBS Sunday Morning. She supports the National Domestic Violence Hotline. If you or someone you know might be a victim of domestic violence in the United States, please contact 1-800-799-7233.

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Cast of Characters

Lila McDaniels—Managing director of The Lemonade Stand (TLS). She has an apartment at the Stand.

Wife by Design (Book 1)

Lynn Duncan—Resident nurse at TLS. She has a three-year-old daughter, Kara.

Grant Bishop—Landscape developer hired by TLS.

Maddie Estes—Permanent TLS resident. Childcare provider.

Darin Bishop—Resident at TLS. Works for his brother, Grant. Has a mental disability.

Once a Family (Book 2)

Sedona (Campbell) Malone—Lawyer who volunteers at TLS.

Tanner Malone—Vintner. Brother to Tatum and Talia Malone.

Tatum Malone—Fifteen-year-old resident at TLS.

Husband by Choice (Book 3)

Meredith (Meri) Bennet—Speech therapist. Mother to two-year-old son, Caleb.

Max Bennet—Pediatrician.

Chantel Harris—Police officer. Friend to Max and his deceased first wife.

Child by Chance (Book 4)

Talia Malone—TLS volunteer. Public-school scrapbook therapist. Student of fashion design.

Sherman Paulson—Political campaign manager. Widower. Single father of adopted ten-year-old son, Kent.

Mother by Fate (Book 5)

Sara Havens—Full-time TLS counselor.

Michael Edwin—Bounty hunter. Widower. Single father to six-year-old daughter, Mari.

The Good Father (Book 6)

Ella Ackerman—Charge nurse at Santa Raquel Children’s Hospital. Member of the High Risk Team. Divorced.

Brett Ackerman—TLS Founder. National accreditation business owner. Divorced.

Love by Association (Book 7)

Chantel Harris—Santa Raquel detective. Member of the High Risk Team.

Colin Fairbanks—Lawyer. Member of Santa Raquel’s most elite society. Principal of high-end law firm. Brother to Julie Fairbanks.

His First Choice (Book 8)

Lacey Hamilton—Social worker. Member of the High Risk Team. Child star. Identical twin to daytime-soap-opera star Kacey Hamilton.

Jeremiah (Jem) Bridges—Private contractor with his own business. Divorced. Has custody of four-year-old son, Levi.

The Promise He Made Her (Book 9)

Bloom Larson—Psychiatrist in Santa Raquel. Domestic violence therapist. Divorced.

Samuel Larson—Santa Raquel high-ranking detective. Widower.

Her Secret Life (Book 10)

Kacey Hamilton—Daytime-soap-opera star. Identical twin to Lacey Hamilton. Volunteer at TLS.

Michael Valentine—Cybersecurity expert. TLS volunteer. Shooting victim.

The Fireman’s Son (Book 11)

Faye Walker—Paramedic. Divorced. Sole custody of eight-year-old son, Elliott, who is in counseling at TLS.

Reese Bristow—Santa Raquel fire chief.

For Joy’s Sake (Book 12)

Julie Fairbanks—Philanthropist and children’s author. Sister to Colin Fairbanks.

Hunter Rafferty—Owns elite professional event-planning business specializing in charity fund-raisers. TLS is one of his clients.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Cast of Characters

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

HER BREATH CAUGHT in her throat, Julie Fairbanks crouched on the floor, hugging her knees, staring at the television screen. The baby who’d been born in a man-made bubble town, who’d been raised and surrounded by people who were only there to keep up appearances, was a man himself now. And about to break free...

The creak of a door opening disrupted her concentration. Lila McDaniels, managing director of The Lemonade Stand, stood in the entranceway. All six women, lounging in various positions on the couch, chairs and floor, looked at her. Five were residents at the unique women’s shelter. Julie was a volunteer who hadn’t left after she’d finished her art therapy session. Lila’s gaze homed in on Julie. With a sideways quirk of Lila’s head, Julie knew she’d been summoned.

Before the show’s hero broke free.

Smiling at the other women, she quietly left before the happy ending that was coming soon. And hoped each one of them would find the necessary strength and support to create her own happy ending.

“What’s wrong?” Julie asked as soon as the door was closed behind them.

Lila shook her head, but her tight gray bun hadn’t moved. “Nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to have a chat with you,” the unflappable woman said. Her voice was kind—as always. And the words were issued with Lila’s usual emotional distance.

The woman both intrigued and frightened Julie. Intrigued because Julie sensed there was so much more to Lila than her ability to maintain calm in an atmosphere of pain and fear. And watching Lila frightened her sometimes, too, because she doubted she’d ever know Lila’s sense of peace.

For the most part she’d love to have Lila’s life. Unmarried and yet with a huge family of women and kids to tend to every day. Making a strong, positive difference in the lives of others.

They were heading for Lila’s private suite—rooms that were her off-duty space at the Stand. Lila stayed there any time she didn’t make it home to the condo she owned in town. Julie hadn’t been aware of any situation at the Stand that had prompted the director’s need to stay over this particular early-October Friday night.

But as a volunteer at the Stand, mostly working with the children, Julie wasn’t privy to every circumstance.

Lila offered her tea. Julie accepted. And watched the older woman bring out the exact brand and flavor she preferred. In some ways they were so much alike, she and Lila.

And yet, Julie knew next to nothing about the other woman’s circumstances, other than that she’d been the managing director of The Lemonade Stand since day one.

Word was that she’d applied for the job while the resort-like shelter was under construction. She’d undergone a normal interview process and had been hired.

From what Julie had been told, in all the years Lila had been at the shelter she’d never had a personal visitor. Not a family member or friend. And even in town, she wasn’t known well.

That was where Julie and Lila differed. Everyone in Santa Raquel knew who Julie Fairbanks was. Many of those people she’d once considered friends. There was still a handful.

A carefully selected, heart-vetted, very small handful.

“How are you doing?” Lila asked, giving Julie a rare, full-on smile as she took one of the two wingback chairs on either side of the claw-foot table in her small but elegantly decorated parlor.

“Good.” Julie nodded as she sat in the other chair, suddenly feeling as if she was onstage under bright lights. As if she could be seen but couldn’t see what was out there. “Busy,” she added. And then, perhaps to ward off whatever was coming, she continued. “The annual celebrity gala for the Sunshine Children’s League is coming up and, of course, I’m fully involved with that...” Her seat on the league’s board had won her the opportunity to chair the gala. “And Minoran Child Development is getting ready to open up a thrift shop. The red tape is endless, although Colin’s being a sweetheart and helping out tremendously.” Lila was well acquainted with Julie’s older brother, who not only ran the family’s prestigious law firm in town but had recently become a major donor to The Lemonade Stand.

“I hear that Chantel is pregnant.”

“Three months!” Julie grinned. Her sister-in-law, who now shared the family mansion with Julie and Colin, had come into their lives as an undercover cop pretending to be a member of their privileged society, and had become her best friend. “I can’t wait to have a little one in the house!” These days, that new baby was the first thing she thought of when she woke up in the morning.

She was just the aunt. She’d maintain her proper place. But still, she couldn’t wait. “I’m going to watch the baby when Chantel goes back to work. At least for the first couple of years.” If Julie had her way, she’d be the child’s nanny until he or she went to school, but it was ultimately up to Chantel and Colin, and they all had time to figure that one out.

Lila’s smile looked somehow...worried, suggesting that she saw some kind of sadness in Julie’s situation. In her gray skirt and blouse, with her hair in its usual bun, Lila didn’t resemble Julie’s idea of a psychic, but she felt sure the older woman had otherworldly talents of perception.

Lila’s next words confirmed Julie’s personal opinion. “I’m concerned about you,” she said.

“Me?”

“Yes.”

The woman watched her, as though waiting for Julie to confess to something. “Why?”

“There’s a wine tasting at your home this evening.”

She nodded again. She’d helped arrange the event that was raising money for the Santa Raquel Library fund—a cause that had become dear to her and Colin and Chantel, since the library’s fund-raising efforts had been instrumental in creating the bond the three of them shared. Chantel, while posing as a writer from a privileged family in New York, had been dating Colin as part of her cover. She’d agreed to write a script for the library’s grand opening party in the renovated mansion that had been willed to the city as a library site. The evening’s event had been a mystery caper, and Chantel had written herself right into the hands of a privileged, wealthy, respected man she’d discovered was a serial rapist—Julie’s rapist. She’d risked her own life in order to give Julie’s life back to her.

“The wine event is there. You’re here.” Lila stated the obvious, so Julie just shrugged.

“You’re cohosting an event, and you aren’t there.”

Feeling those bright lights again, Julie sipped her tea. Stared at the polish on her toes, the black leather straps of her flip-flops across her pale feet. And then she looked straight at Lila. “I am capable of being there,” she said with complete assurance. “Knowing that, I’ve given myself the option of choosing not to be.”

“Why make that choice?”

So maybe she’d recognized from the moment Lila had appeared exactly why she’d wanted to see her. The summons. The tea. Julie would’ve liked to stand up and leave. To defend her right not to be subjected to inquiry. But she didn’t really feel defensive. Or upset with Lila.

“You know I’m uncomfortable around that crowd.”

True enough, though no one on the night’s guest list knew that. The rapist’s father was one of the state’s most prominent bankers—so the details, including names, had been kept out of the news. Smyth Jr. had accepted a plea agreement. And money really did carry a lot of power. But Lila knew—Julie and Colin had become associated with the Stand through the ordeal. As did others closely associated with Smyth’s ten years’ worth of victims.

“I also know you’ve made a point, with Chantel’s and Colin’s support, of rejoining your social group. I heard that you used to love dressing up for parties, too.”

“And I can now attend these things without panic attacks,” she told Lila. “It’s like I said. I know I can, so I no longer have to.”

“We’re talking about a function in your own home, Julie. Yet here you are.”

She didn’t like how Lila’s statement made her feel. As though she, Julie, wasn’t quite done with moving on. As though she was still broken.

The truth was, she’d never be done with it. Not really. There was no way to erase what had happened, and no way not to be affected by it.

But she was able to live more normally now.

For some reason, she needed Lila—a highly respected professional working with female victims—to see that.

“I wanted Chantel and Colin to be able to welcome guests into their home as a couple. More specifically, I wanted Chantel to feel like the hostess, the woman of the house. Since she came into our lives on a lie, she still sometimes feels like an imposter, like she’s not really one of us, especially when there’s a gathering that includes people who don’t know the details. It can be hard for her. As if making the transition from street cop to detective wasn’t difficult enough, she’s living in a society that’s completely unfamiliar to her. If I was there, people would naturally turn to me as the hostess and...”

It was the reason she’d given her brother and his wife for skipping out on the high-dollar evening they’d been planning for several months. They hadn’t been happy with her proposed absence, hadn’t thought it necessary, but they’d accepted her choice. Because her reasoning was valid.

“But why are you here?” Lila asked.

Julie frowned. It wasn’t unusual for her to be at The Lemonade Stand. In a volunteer capacity with the children, but also hanging out with the women. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s Friday night. You’re twenty-eight years old. Independently wealthy and lovely. You could be doing any number of things for fun and relaxation. Okay, so you wanted to be away from your home for the night. You could’ve booked yourself into a resort spa. Gone to the theater. You could have been on a date.”

Julie didn’t respond to Lila. She couldn’t.

Inside her, everything was tense. Poised for escape.

“We need you here, Julie. You know that. And we all want you here. You bring a nurturing and understanding and compassion that’s special and very, very precious to these women. And to the staff.”

Julie raised her eyes to Lila’s. And was scared by the concerned crease in the other woman’s brow.

“But we aren’t being a friend back to you,” Lila went on, “we aren’t good for you if you’re using us as a hideout.”

Ironic, considering that the Stand existed so women had a place to hide and be safe while they healed.

“If you need to be here, you are welcome. Always. I don’t ever want you to need to come to us and then change your mind. Or your course of action. But if you need to be here, then we need to be doing something to help you.”

The band around Julie’s chest relaxed a little.

“It helps me just to be here,” she assured the other woman.

Lila waited until their eyes met again. “Those women you were with tonight... Do you think any one of them would choose to be here? If they had a place to go, where they’d be safe and could live a healthy life?”

Thinking of the five women she’d had dinner with in the cafeteria and then wandered to the lounge with—women who all had rooms in cabins on the premises—Julie shook her head.

All of them mourned for the lives they’d lost. For the dreams they’d lost. For the sense of security that had been taken from them. They yearned for real homes. Yearned to be in control of their lives again. And they lived in fear, too.

Julie wasn’t afraid of being attacked again. She had a lovely home that she cherished, a bed of her own that she’d be returning to that night.

“As a staff member, volunteer or not, you are one of us, Julie. And you will be for as long as you choose to share yourself with us. And also as a friend. You’re both things to us.”

Okay, good. No problems. She wanted to breathe easier.

But didn’t.

“I’ve come to suspect that you’re here for a third purpose, too.”

No. No, she wasn’t.

“You’re aware that most state facilities have time limits on the number of weeks a woman can remain in a shelter like ours, right?”

She knew. The Lemonade Stand, as a private facility, didn’t have to adhere to those mandates. They had their own mandates, loosely based on state laws, but they didn’t send away women who were doing everything required of them, who were participating fully in their own recovery, who were making progress but just weren’t ready to leave yet.

“Do you know why the state sets those time limits?”

“Because of the money.” Obviously. “And we mostly adhere to them because we don’t want our residents to start feeling powerless, to lose their sense of self-reliance by relying on us too much.”

“And because if they depend on the Stand to fill an emotional void, a void left by abuse, then they lose their ability to fill that void themselves.”

“You’re telling me not to get too attached to the residents. Not to become personal friends with them because they’re going to move on.” She was well aware of that. And didn’t let herself get too close—even while they were intimately in each other’s personal space as they opened up and shared their most vulnerable secrets.

“I’m telling you that I’m worried you’re using us to fill a void in your life.”

The words had come, in spite of Julie’s attempts to forestall them.

This was what she’d been afraid to hear.

CHAPTER TWO

JULIE STOOD UP in Lila’s parlor, wishing she could escape into any of the antique paintings on the walls depicting faraway places. The way she escaped into her own paintings in her home studio. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come here tonight...” As she heard her own words, she heard Lila’s earlier ones, too, about not ever wanting Julie to feel that she shouldn’t come to The Lemonade Stand.

Lila wasn’t telling her to leave. But Julie would rather leave than hear what Lila was telling her.

“You can go if you’d like, of course,” Lila said, her voice as calm as always. Her teacup sat untouched on the table between them as she watched Julie. “But I hope you’ll stay, continue our conversation.”

In other words, Lila thought she needed help.

That was what this meeting was about.

Julie was already in regular counseling, with Bloom Larson in town. Chantel had introduced them the previous year when she’d spent time keeping the psychiatrist safe from a threat to her life.

Julie was doing what Bloom called her “personal work”—challenging herself to face the situations that frightened her, dare to live life fully, not to let the bastard who’d stolen her youth have the rest of her life, too. So she had more work to do, and Lila knew full well that these things took time. Maybe even a lifetime.

She met Lila’s gaze again. Then focused briefly on the rose-colored silk fabric of her chair. Confusion had her sinking back into the seat she’d so abruptly vacated.

“Have you told Dr. Larson about all the time you spend here when you aren’t working or socializing with staff?”

Julie shook her head.

“Needing to be in the company of others who are going through some of the same struggles you face, who’ve been indelibly hurt by those they trusted, is normal,” Lila said.

Julie felt better for a moment.

Was something wrong? Or not?

“But I think that, for the most part, you’re beyond that stage,” the director continued. “You’re more like a mentor to these women than you are one of them.”

Right. That was how she’d seen it, too. So...everything was fine?

“Which leads me to suspect, as I mentioned a few minutes ago, that you sometimes come here for another purpose.”

Recognizing the defensiveness that suddenly flared within her, Julie slowed her thoughts. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Personal intimacy.” Lila said the words softly, almost as though she could diminish their impact. “You’re close to your brother and Chantel, as you should be. They’re your only family, and the three of you are good together...”

Julie nodded. They had to work at it, she and Colin mostly, but they were good together. She with her own wing in the house, he and Chantel with theirs. They all met for breakfast, which Julie prepared every morning. Otherwise they might not see each other for days.

“But besides them, you have...”

A small circle, Julie finished silently when Lila’s voice dropped off. She had acquaintances. What seemed like millions of them. And, yes, those few friends.

“There are a couple of women I consider close,” she said. Her best friend from high school, for one. Jaime, an artist, lived in New York now, but they were still in touch.

“I hope you consider all of us here your friends,” Lila said, finally picking up her cup of tea and sipping. “But I’m not just talking about friends. Look at Sara and Lynn—” full-time counselor and resident nurse at the Stand “—they’re both committed to this place and have personal lives, too. They have spouses and children.”

“You don’t.” Even as she let the words loose, Julie knew they came from her defensiveness. Not the right reason at all.

“I’m fifty-three years old,” Lila said, appearing completely unflappable. “Past my childbearing years.”

“I’m not opposed to having a future,” Julie said slowly, trying her best not to be defensive. Lila wasn’t completely wrong to have concerns. Julie’d had similar conversations with Dr. Larson.

“But you haven’t been on a single date since high school.”

“That’s right.” Not that she hadn’t been asked—and fairly often, too. Until just over a year ago, she hadn’t set foot out of her house for any kind of social function. And not for a business one, either, if it was at night. Except on rare occasions when she’d gone somewhere with Colin—having vetted the guest list to know who would not be present.

“From what I understand, you haven’t been out with girlfriends, either. Other than for lunch.”

“No. But only because, as you said, they all have lives, families...” Which had come about during the years Julie had been holed up in her suite in the Fairbanks mansion.

Lila nodded. “So what do you say to a girls’ night out? You and Sara and Lynn and I? We can go wherever you’d like, do whatever you want, the only caveat being that we don’t discuss The Lemonade Stand, our residents or our work for the entire evening.”

What? Lila was asking her to do something socially? Not trying to gently tell her she was nuttier than she’d realized? She hadn’t seen that coming.

“I’ve already spoken to them. They’re both in.”

Julie was confused again. Lila wasn’t reprimanding her? “But...why?”

“You’re a strong, talented, giving woman, Julie. We all like you and enjoy your sense of humor. We thought it would be fun.”

A mental flash of her studio called to her. She needed her easel. Needed a pencil and paper—time to create the simple stories that always helped her see more clearly.

“Why?” she asked again. Was Colin behind this? He’d promised her he’d back off, that he’d let her take charge of her own healing.

“Because we want to show you that you aren’t alone.”

The threat of tears nearly strangled her. Lila was wrong. In the end, everyone was alone. Alone in your mind. In your secret places. Alone in a pain only you could feel. In a fear only you could fight.

No one else could know what it felt like to live with your own inability to trust.

Lila’s hand on Julie’s knee brought her gaze back to the older woman. “You’re interesting, Julie,” Lila said. “You’ve got such a unique perspective. Don’t forget I’ve read your stories...”

She blinked. Only Colin, Chantel and a few other people knew that she was the author of the newly published and already bestselling children’s book series, Being Amy. Lila was one of the few. Julie had told the director and Sara about the books when she’d offered to do some storytelling sessions the year before.

“Don’t worry, no one else here knows,” Lila said, cluing Julie into the fact that she must be showing her horror at the thought of becoming a public figure of any kind. “I gave you my word.”

She nodded. At Chantel’s urging, because her sister-in-law believed that Julie’s books could help children understand the challenges they faced, she’d agreed to have her work looked at. Chantel had an aunt by marriage whose family owned a small nonfiction publishing house—and who had long-term acquaintances with fiction publishing professionals. Within six weeks of sending the original file, Julie had a contract.

“So what do you say? Will you join us for dinner?”

The mere idea of venturing out far enough to go out for no purpose other than to socialize gave her a panic attack...and yet...she’d loved being part of a tribe...

But, in the past, when push had come to shove, when there’d been pressure put on their families by the police commissioner and his best friend, Smyth Sr.—a man who’d owned most of their investments—when they could’ve been ostracized from their privileged social group, her friends had all chosen to believe that a brutal date rape had been consensual sex.

Not everyone was out for the money, Julie told herself.

Her protective voice spoke up. But everyone looked out for self. In spite of others’ needs.

Except at The Lemonade Stand, where Lila and Julie and Lynn spent most of their waking hours. She could trust them to be real friends.

I will not let the bastard win...

“When did you have in mind?” Every nerve trembled, but when Lila gave her a date and time, Julie agreed to the outing.

And got out of The Lemonade Stand as quickly as she could.

* * *

LATE SATURDAY MORNING, Hunter Rafferty swung. Connected the iron with the ball and sent it sailing. It landed on the green, setting him up for a putt that would make him a shoe-in for the day’s grand prize. He didn’t even know what it was. Or care.

Hunter didn’t really like golf. Never had. Even though he’d been playing since he was twelve. He was good at it.

But then, he was good at pretty much everything he tried.

Looking to the one person in his foursome who’d prompted his attendance at the day’s charity event, he asked, “What can you tell me about Julie Fairbanks?”

Brett and his wife, Ella, had stopped in briefly at the wine tasting held at the Fairbanks mansion the night before. Their sixteen-month-old son had a cold, and Ella, a pediatric charge nurse, hadn’t wanted to be away from him. But Hunter had seen Brett speaking with Colin Fairbanks, Julie’s older brother.

Brett Ackerman, founder of The Lemonade Stand, among other things, turned and looked at him. “About Julie Fairbanks? Depends on what you want to know.” He picked up his bag and, with Hunter right beside him, began the two-hundred-yard trek to his ball a little short of the green. If they hadn’t been friends for so long, Hunter might have taken offense. As it was, he knew Brett was just being...Brett. He’d actually managed to establish a nationally respected accreditation for charities. They’d invite him to sit on their boards; there, he’d oversee spending and activities to ensure a lack of fraudulent use of funds. All across the United States, charitable foundations were vying for the accreditation, waiting in line for Brett to have time to sit on their boards.

The other two in their foursome at the semiannual businessmen’s tournament were several yards ahead of them.

Depends on what you want to know. Brett would’ve made a great covert op. Getting information out of him was nearly impossible sometimes.

If he knew what he wanted to know, he wouldn’t be asking.

He didn’t want to limit what he might learn by narrowing his possibilities.

“I found it odd that she wasn’t at the wine tasting last night,” he improvised. The event had been in her home. When Brett had issued the invitation to attend as a way to get to know some of Santa Raquel’s elite a bit better, Hunter had immediately accepted. Mostly because it would’ve given him a chance to see Julie outside their business relationship.

Brett had originally introduced him to Julie when he’d heard about the gala fund-raiser for one of the kids’ charities she supported. As a result of that introduction, Julie had hired Hunter’s company—The Time of Your Life—to run her gala, and they’d been working closely together for months.

He knew nothing more about her now than he had when they’d first met.

Except that she was soft-spoken, often quiet, but when she had something to say he wanted to listen. She wasn’t pushy or aggressive, and yet she always managed to make things happen. She dressed more conservatively than any other woman he’d ever wanted to date. She’d never once mentioned that she lived in a mansion or that her trust fund was worth more than he’d ever had in all his investments combined. Her long dark hair was always contained. She had a smile that could melt ice.

And a scent that he dreamed about, waking up on more than one occasion expecting to smell it on the pillow beside him.

Oh, yeah, he had it bad.

But he wasn’t about to wallow in it.

He was The Time of Your Life guy.

And it was time for him to have a life.

Or something like that.

CHAPTER THREE

WITH ONE MISSION in mind—getting Brett to give him some information before they left that day—Hunter took a couple of quiet steps in the pristine grass. Trying to come up with a plan.

“She wasn’t at the wine tasting because she was busy elsewhere,” Brett said a good two minutes after either of them had spoken.

Hunter had spent the evening looking for her when he should’ve been courting new clients and had left with his hopes dashed.

“You know where she was?”

“Yeah.”

“But you aren’t saying.”

Brett stopped then and turned toward him. “Are you asking?”

He hadn’t said exactly what he wanted to know. Or why he was asking about Julie. A key miss on his part.

Brett Ackerman was not a man to hack around with. He had made a mint from one thing most people had but so rarely relied on—integrity. A mint. By being a man the entire country could trust.

Americans Against Prejudice was how Hunter had met him. Hunter’s business arranged charity fund-raising events. And Brett had just been starting to earn recognition in the field of charitable organizations. Hunter had withstood intense scrutiny from Brett on the first few occasions they’d met. He’d been completely open. With his books, his intentions, his plans. He’d been eager for Brett’s approval, truth be known.

The two had been in contact ever since.

“I’ve asked her out more times than I can count,” he confessed as they reached Brett’s golf ball.

Hunter might not be as wealthy as most of the men out on Santa Raquel’s most prestigious golf course that Saturday afternoon, but he had money. Good looks. And a knack for showing people a great time.

Brett swung. Hunter watched as his ball landed and rolled five feet closer to the green than his own. Didn’t matter, Hunter was there on one. It had taken Brett two.

“I’ve never been turned down for a date in my life,” he said, when Brett remained silent.

“So that’s what this is about?” Brett asked, bagging his iron. Slinging the strap of his golf bag over his shoulder, he started to walk again.

“That I’m bugged because she turns me down? I thought so at first.”

Glancing his way, Brett asked, “You don’t now?”

“Nope.”

“I can’t tell you much.”

He’d figured.

“Don’t even think about getting to her through Colin,” Brett said, his tone sounding almost as if he was enjoying himself. “She hates it when he sticks his nose in her business.”

Hunter had spent some time speaking with Colin the night before. Had liked him. A lot. And he’d obtained a promise from Colin to invite a group of handpicked clients to attend a dinner at Hunter’s expense, to allow Hunter to explain what he did and invite them to join his guest list. Wealthy individuals were always looking for charity tax write-offs, and he threw one hell of a party. It was a win-win.

“I left it alone,” he said now. He’d been tempted to ask Colin about Julie. Something had held him back.

Like the thought that Colin would warn him off his little sister and he didn’t want to piss the guy off by disregarding his advice.

At the edge of the green both men pulled out putters and dropped their bags. Waited while the two guys ahead of them took their putts.

“Julie’s not really in your league,” Brett said, serious again.

“I’m not after her money.” If Hunter hadn’t known Brett so well, he would’ve been more offended than he was. Still...

“I’m not talking about her money,” Brett said. “Julie’s...different.”

No shit. She wouldn’t be keeping him up nights if she weren’t. “I know.”

“She’s not a woman a guy’s going to have fun with.”

“I’m not out to take advantage of her.” Although he could forgive Brett a little more easily on that one. He liked to have a good time. So did many other people, including the women who liked to hang out with him.

“Is she seeing anyone?” He couldn’t stop himself from asking, in spite of how stupidly adolescent he felt.

Brett didn’t answer, and Hunter took that as a no. If she was involved, there’d be no reason he could think of to keep the information private. And in that case, she’d likely bring the guy to her upcoming gala.

“She’s careful.” Brett was staring at him now. And all of Hunter’s senses slowed.

They weren’t playing around here.

“She’s been hurt.” Brett didn’t look away as he spoke. “Badly.”

He continued to stand there.

“I just want to invite her out to dinner,” Hunter said. “To sit at a table with her and have some conversation.” Crazy thing was, his words were the complete truth.

He’d take more if it was given. A helluva lot more. He’d take anything she wanted to offer. But he really needed to talk with her, spend enough time with her to figure out why he couldn’t get her out of his head.

Brett’s expression changed. For a second there, Hunter thought he’d scored the big one. That Brett was going to give him his way in.

And then the other man walked off to sink his putt.

Hunter sank his, too. First try.

The other two in their party congratulated him. Fist-bumped him. Said they’d buy him a beer.

That was when he realized they’d just finished the eighteenth hole. They were done. His win was official.

He didn’t want a beer.

He wanted a date.

* * *

JULIE WAS AT the storyboard easel in her sitting room on Sunday afternoon when her cell rang. Colin and Chantel were at Chantel’s little apartment in town—the place she insisted on keeping so she didn’t completely lose herself in Colin’s opulence—vegging for the afternoon, and Julie had expected to work uninterrupted.

When she saw who the caller was—Hunter Rafferty, owner of The Time of Your Life—she debated whether or not to pick up.

She didn’t want to deal with Hunter that afternoon. He was likable. Able to put everyone at ease. Make them laugh. He was great at his job. And his charm was a job. Which was why his personal attention bothered her.

But...he wouldn’t be calling unless there was a problem with the gala. Something that needed immediate attention. He never called to ask her out; he only did that in person. On the walks to a parking lot after a meeting. That kind of thing. Using her private cell number for personal reasons would be inappropriate.

So, there had to be a problem.

The gala meant the world to her. If they earned even half of what Hunter told her they could expect, the Sunshine Children’s League would be able to feed real Thanksgiving dinners to homeless and orphaned kids all over the Los Angeles valley.

She answered her phone on the fifth ring.

“Can you free yourself up for a couple of hours?” His hello, by way of that question, put her instantly on alert.

This was what she didn’t like about Hunter. For all his ability to put people at ease, he made her uncomfortable.

Julie couldn’t consider his attention harassment. Except that, in a way, she did.

Not because he was friendly with her.

But because...part of her liked it. While the rest of her knew not to trust his party face in a personal setting.

“I’m working.” She gave him her standard answer. Nice that pretty much all she did was work, of one kind or another, so the words were always true.

“Is it something you can break away from?”

“Why?”

“I’m at a festival in Santa Barbara. There’s a great act here. I just caught the tail end of their show, but they’re due to be onstage again in an hour. The show’s about forty-five minutes long. If you like them, I can get with them right afterward and see if we can book them.”

He’d told her about an entertainment cancellation when they’d had a gala meeting on Wednesday. He hadn’t mentioned, when she’d seen him then, that he was on the guest list for the wine tasting at her house on Friday. She’d seen his name. She’d already been toying with the idea of leaving Chantel to act as hostess. Hunter’s name on the guest list had made up her mind for her.

“We’ve got nine great acts lined up,” he reminded her. “Most of them are fairly short. We need a tenth if we’re going to keep the party going long enough to get the money you want...”

The gala was a black-tie affair at a dinner theater in Beverly Hills. Guests paid to be there. That price included dinner and the first three acts. But they could pay more if they were enjoying themselves and wanted the evening to continue. There’d be voting buttons at each seat. If guests wanted another act, they pushed the button. As long as there were button pushes, the gala would continue. And each push of a button served as another pledge.

She wanted ten acts.

If he’d told her about the festival to begin with, skipping the preliminary questions, she could already have been on her way...

Asking for directions, she told him she’d be there in half an hour.

And wasted five of her thirty minutes trying to decide whether she should change from the jeans and the short, waist-hugging black leather jacket she’d worn to brunch with Colin and Chantel in town. By then, considering how long it would take her to get there, she no longer had time to change.

* * *

“NICE JACKET.” HUNTER’S words had Julie cringing even before she was fully out of her BMW. She should have changed.

“My sister-in-law gave it to me,” she said. Which was why she’d had it on. The only time she’d had it on. Sassy was just not her style.

Not anymore.

Not for many years.

“She’s got good taste.”

The look in his eye, accompanied by the grin on his face and the tone of his voice—they made her feel warm.

She didn’t want to like it.

But she did. Sort of.

And that bothered her.

On a day when she’d been all set to enjoy her peace.

As they started to maneuver through the festival crowd at the edge of the beach, he raised an arm and reached toward her, as though he was going to drop that arm casually around her.

She stepped away.

And hated her life for a second.

Hunter always looked good. Great. But in jeans and a blue polo shirt, with that blond hair windblown and just a hint of stubble on his chin, he was drop-dead gorgeous.

The fact that she noticed, that she always noticed, made her nervous. Even if she didn’t have a lifetime of issues to muck her way through, Hunter Rafferty was not her type. At all. He was a charmer. The kiss of death.

Charmers’ smiles were so bright, so compelling, they hid everything beneath them. Everything inside them.

Someday, she might be healthy enough to go out with friends without a panic attack. In a perfect world she might even get healthy enough to date. But she’d never, ever be able to trust a charmer again. One of them had almost killed her.

And he’d condemned her to live in the shambles he’d left behind.

Smyth had taught her something about charmers, though. They smiled even when they were destroying you. She’d never forget his smile as he held her arms above her head...

She turned down Hunter’s offers to buy her a cup of shaved Hawaiian ice, a funnel cake and, finally, a chocolate-covered frozen banana. She kept her distance as they made their way to the stage and sat a chair down from him when they settled in to watch the show.

She gave him her approval of the six nine-year-old girls who sounded like Gladys Knight and the Pips, halfway through their show. After that, she excused herself, knowing he had to wait until the end of the act to speak with the girls’ manager, or parents, or whoever could arrange to have them in the lineup the night of the gala.

She’d tell him when he called her later that she thought the girls should be their opening act. And to thank him for finding them.

What she wasn’t going to tell him was that she’d liked the festival and wished she could have dared enjoy herself with him.

But she wouldn’t.

Because she knew why she was attracted to him. He was exactly her type—in the most dangerous way. And that meant he couldn’t be her type. He was upbeat. Energetic. Always with an idea up his sleeve. Adventurous, like she used to be.

She’d fallen head over heels in love with a man like him, a fun-loving charmer, once before.

And had the fun choked out of her.

Literally.

CHAPTER FOUR

HUNTER DIDN’T CALL Julie Sunday night. She’d had to leave the festival, which obviously meant she’d had something else to do. Or so he chose to think.

She wasn’t a micromanager. So she didn’t need to be told immediately that he’d hired the girls for her gala.

And...he wanted to call her badly enough that he shut himself down. He wasn’t desperate. Had never had to be overeager.

And to prove that to himself, he called a woman friend of his, one he’d been dating casually on and off for years, and took her to dinner and then to a club. He enjoyed himself just fine. More importantly, she enjoyed herself.

Mandy was fun. Vivacious. She was easy to please, and pleased to be with him. Best of all, like him, she had no expectations beyond having a good time with someone she could trust. Had no interest in more than that. The only reason he’d ended the evening early—when she’d made it clear that the night could extend until morning—was that he had an 8:00 a.m. meeting, followed by a packed Monday and a busy week.

But he’d see her again soon.

He’d assured her of that. And had won a glowing smile and intimate kiss for his trouble.

Mandy was the woman he wanted to be thinking of when he woke the next morning, made his way out to the kitchen of his high-end beach condo to put on the coffee, and headed to the shower. Mandy. Not his festival companion.

Julie Fairbanks was only on his mind because he had to remember to let her know he’d signed the girls, and he hadn’t put the reminder on his phone.

That need to call her, in the middle of such a jam-packed week, was why she was the first thing on his mind when the phone rang just as he was pulling on a polo shirt. Grabbing the sports coat that matched his pants and gave the shirt the business touch it required, he reached for his phone.

Dad.

“Hey, what’s up?” he answered, slipping into expensive loafers and shoving his wallet in his back pocket before picking up his keys from the nightstand. He’d spoken with both of his parents—separately, of course—the morning before. His regular check-in. But he and his dad, who’d moved to Florida after his parents’ divorce ten years before, chatted frequently. Mostly about golf scores and such.

“I need a favor, son.”

Son. Not Buddy, the nickname his father most often used. Or Hunter. Which generally meant his father wasn’t too pleased with him.

Son. Hunter paid attention.

“Sure. What’s up?” His father was a wealthy man. He could afford to buy just about any favor he needed. And that probably meant it involved his mother. Again.

Karen Rafferty only contacted her ex-husband when she had to. Still, she had a way of pissing his father off—almost as if she was doing it on purpose, as his father sometimes thought. Hunter was more inclined to believe that after so many years of living with a man who didn’t give her what she needed, Karen’s reactions to her ex-husband were automatic. And automatically negative. She was otherwise a kind, decent woman.

As his father was the first to acknowledge.

“You remember Betty’s brother, Edward?”

Betty...John Rafferty’s wife. Hunter’s stepmother of nine years. And Edward...

“Yeah, he was at your wedding,” Hunter said. He pictured the man, about his father’s age, a primary care doctor like his dad, and boating enthusiast, as he recalled.

A widower. With a pretty companion whose name he couldn’t remember and whose relationship with Edward reminded Hunter of him and Mandy now. Enjoying each other with no strings attached.

“He needs your help, Hunter. Anything you can do... You know so many people.”

While John’s California contacts were ten years in the past and mainly in San Diego.

“Is he in some kind of trouble?”

“His daughter is—”

Standing in his kitchen, near the door that led to his garage, Hunter shook his head. “I don’t remember a daughter. Was she at the wedding?”

Granted, he’d been a bit put out by the speed with which his father had found a new wife in his new town, concerned that the woman was using him. But now that he knew Betty, a nurse in the building where John had his private practice, he approved wholeheartedly.

“No. That’s all part of the problem. He hasn’t seen her in practically a decade. Her mom died twelve years ago. Edward buried himself in work, and Cara got in with the wrong people. You know how it is on certain parts of the beach—easy to find crowds to lose yourself in.”

Hunter, with his love of a good time coupled with the cold-war atmosphere in his home, had come close to losing his whole future on the beach in San Diego. Until his father had set him straight, telling him that his love of a good time was not something to be thrown away, but to be capitalized on. It was his talent, and he needed to use it wisely.

“She met a guy who ran some surfing school shortly after her mother died. Edward was sure the school was a front for drugs, but the more he questioned, the more Cara pulled away, saying that he just didn’t want her to be happy. She ended up following the guy to California, where he started a second surfing school. They got married. Had a little girl... He hired someone to check up on her over the years, just to make certain she was okay.”

Hunter wasn’t seeing the problem. He was seeing valuable time slip away. But when his dad called, he listened. “So the business was legit, and everything worked out.”

“Edward hoped the business was legit, that she was healthy and happy. Cara hasn’t contacted him in years or responded to any of his efforts to contact her. At one point, before they left Florida, the guy, Shawn Amos, warned Edward to leave Cara alone. Said that Edward did nothing but make her unhappy. Edward was certain, even then, that Shawn was the biggest problem between him and Cara. He says Amos turned Cara against him. He tried to tell Cara, but any time Edward said anything that could be even vaguely construed as a criticism of Shawn, Cara got defensive and quit listening to him.”

He was sorry for the guy. But he didn’t see what he could do. He was a party thrower, not a trouble solver, and he had to get to work.

They had a dozen events that week, and while he had staff to handle most of the on-site logistics, he always showed up.

“What kind of trouble is she in?”

The phone call to Julie would have to wait. He didn’t want it to be rushed. Just in case he could get her to engage in more than a brief business discussion. Still standing in his kitchen, he looked out toward the beach and realized how long it had been since he’d been out there for the sheer sake of enjoying himself, enjoying the surf. He’d known some great guys who taught surfing...

“She’s missing, Hunter.”

“Hey, wait a minute, Dad. He needs to call the police. Not me. I’m no investigator. I don’t even know an investigator.” Wait, yes, he’d just met one—Julie’s sister-in-law, Chantel.

Just as Hunter was about to suggest Chantel to his father, John said, “The cops know, Hunter. They’re looking for her. That’s not the favor.”

Completely focused now, Hunter stopped thinking about the time he was losing. “What can I do to help?”

“Edward’s granddaughter is staying with a friend, a neighbor, for the moment, but if Child Protective Services gets involved, she might be sent to strangers. She has an aunt, Shawn’s sister Mary, who’s in the hospital in critical condition. She’s in and out of consciousness, but she said that Shawn beat her up and that he hurt Cara, too. She also said Cara told her to take Joy and run. Mary’s the last known person to have seen either Cara or Shawn. The family van is still parked at the residence.”

The whole thing was way over his head. Completely outside any area of expertise he’d ever even thought about having. His father had to know that. “What can I do?” he asked again.

“Edward is flying to LA this morning. He plans to stay until his daughter’s found. But his first concern is his granddaughter. He wants to make certain that until her father’s in custody, she’s in a safe place and out of the foster care system.”

Finally, he understood. “Edward needs a place to stay,” he said. “You want him to bunk with me.” The condo had four bedrooms: his, the one with a desk and computer in it for when he worked from home, and two that were ready for guests. “I’m an hour and a half north of the city, but of course, he’s welcome. Right now. For as long as he needs. Is he renting a car?”

Hunter had vehicle rental connections.

“Or if he needs a place in the city,” he added, “let me know.”

He had connections there, too. A file folder filled with them.

“I was hoping you’d contact your friend Brett Ackerman, son. You said he shocked everyone a couple of years ago, admitting that he was the founder of a women’s shelter...”

“Yeah. The Lemonade Stand.” He didn’t know all that much about it. Brett kept a hands-off approach. Hunter had thrown some fund-raisers for the Stand, but never on-site. Or even close to the site. And, as always, he didn’t ask a lot of questions about what went on beyond his need-to-know part. He’d learned early on that he couldn’t do his job, wouldn’t have time to help as many charities as he did, if he delved into all the causes for which his clients were fighting.

“As Edward understands it, Mary—Cara’s sister-in-law—doesn’t have much money. And if she’s close to Cara, she probably won’t take any from him. But if he could pay Brett, make a donation to the shelter, I...thought maybe they’d have a place for Mary and Joy there, just until the cops find Shawn and we know they’re safe...”

“I can talk to Brett, sure, but what about Edward? You said he’s flying in today. Where does he plan to stay? I assume he’s meeting with whatever police department has his daughter’s case. You have a cell number so I can contact him?”

“He’s got a room at a place there in Santa Raquel,” John said. “Because I suggested he stay close to you.” His father’s faith in him had been steadfast. “Ventura police have jurisdiction over the case.”

About an hour north of LA, forty-five minutes or so south of Santa Raquel, the beach town was a place where teenagers liked to party. Hunter had never set a function there. But a surfing company made sense...

“What hospital is the aunt in? And what’s her full name?”

“Mary Amos. Unmarried. Twenty-seven years old. She works at a gift shop down by the Ventura pier. She’s at Ventura County Medical Center.”

With a Bluetooth earpiece keeping him connected to his father, he took the details on his phone. “And what’s Edward’s last name again?” Betty was a Rafferty now. Until she’d married John, he’d had no reason to know her as anything but Betty.

“Mantle.”

Like Mickey Mantle. He remembered now. Dr. Mantle.

“The little girl, Joy, how old is she?”

“Seven.”

He took down Edward’s cell number, flight and hotel information next.

“Got it,” he said, keys in hand, phone in his pocket, as he headed for the door. “Tell Edward not to worry. And to call me when he gets in,” he said before he clicked the earpiece and started another call.

As he waited for Brett Ackerman to answer, his dad’s effusive thanks echoed through his mind. Bothering him, oddly enough. This was serious stuff, and he wasn’t doing anything but making a phone call.

The doctors in the world healed pain. The cops punished those who created pain. And Hunter...he was the guy who had a lot of contacts and knew how to put on a good party. Who could always be counted on to lighten the mood.

He was the fun guy.

Not the lifesaver.

CHAPTER FIVE

JULIE HAD THOUGHT about Hunter a great deal on Monday. Only because she was bracing herself to hear from him. Hoping she hadn’t given him any hint of how much she’d enjoyed being at the festival with him. Afraid he’d turn on the charm even more.

Secondary to that fear was the fact that she’d been at a crowded public festival for more than an hour without a panic attack. She wanted to celebrate her progress, but was too busy worrying that her lack of anxiety had been due to him—that she’d been so taken with him she was distracted from her usual sense of discomfort.

When she got up Tuesday morning to find the late-night email from him, telling her that he’d signed the girls’ group, she was relieved that there was no need for a phone call now. She’d see Hunter at Thursday’s meeting—a dress rehearsal for the acts they’d be showcasing at the following week’s gala—and then one more time, at the gala itself. After that, she’d be done with him.

Yes, she was relieved about all of that.

No matter what Lila McDaniels said, she was not hiding from life. She was living the life she’d chosen for herself. A life of giving.

Of making the world a better place for children who weren’t growing up with the kind of privilege she had. For children who didn’t always understand the world around them. Just...for children in general, because children brought her joy.

Being a child had brought her joy.

And she spent time with victims of abuse because she felt comfortable with them.

Still, she hesitated when she saw Lila’s number pop up on her cell Wednesday morning. She’d been about to leave the house, heading to LA for a lunch meeting with a couple of board members of the Sunshine Children’s League. Among other things, the league supported a home for children awaiting adoption, and Julie was on a committee that was planning an October Open House, for later in the month, with food trucks, Halloween fun and tours of the facilities guided by the kids themselves. They were hoping to attract prospective parents for older children.

She made it through three rings before picking up.

“Hello?” In her studio, she looked over the current work in progress, a drawing on her easel—and the words that went with it on the table with her watercolors.

It’s okay to have a day that goes wrong in every way.

The drawing showed a glass of spilled milk, a broken toy and a chubby-faced little girl frowning at a big jelly stain on her shirt.

“I need your help.” Lila’s first words, after a quick hello, made her stomach hurt.

“Of course. What do you need?” She’d step up. No matter what. The alternative, to stay locked away in her fairy-tale world, wasn’t right. Or enough.

You didn’t die from anxiety. Not her kind of anxiety anyway. And even if you did, she’d rather die than be dead alive.

Lila told her about a little girl, Joy. A new resident at the Stand whose father was abusive and whose mother was missing—presumably taken by the father. The seven-year-old had been with them since Monday night, but so far hadn’t said a word to anyone. Or even nodded or shaken her head. She followed instructions.

And she stared vacantly.

Except when it came to Julie’s book about a little girl, Amy, who was afraid of her own shadow—Amy’s Shadow.

“I’m not sure she reads the words, but Sara and the women whose bungalow Joy’s staying in, until her aunt’s out of the hospital, have read it to her several times. And whenever she’s not being told to do something else, she’s got the book in her hands. Sometimes turning the pages. Sometimes just holding it.”

Tears flooded Julie’s eyes. She used to think her sensitivity, her drama and intense emotions, made her special. Then they’d made her fragile.

Which was why she hated when her feelings took over.

There wasn’t time for that right now.

“Can I see her?” Julie asked. She might not be a counselor, but she’d studied child development. And she knew Amy, the girl with the shadow, very, very well.

“That’s why I’m calling. I was hoping you could make time this morning.”

The Sunshine League meeting was important. But it could go on without her. The others could fill her in on any decisions made in her absence.

Within half an hour, she was sitting in the front room of one of the larger bungalows on Lemonade Stand grounds with Joy, a small-boned, dark-haired girl. The child’s big brown eyes were filled with a blankness that tore at Julie’s heart.

Vanessa, one of the adult residents of the bungalow, sat across from them, thumbing through a magazine. The television was on, a family sitcom playing softly in the background.

Sara Havens Edwin was in the kitchen with the older woman who’d agreed to have Joy stay in her room. Hannah was a grandmother of two. And as soon as she got legally disengaged from her abusive second husband, she was going to be moving across the country to live close to her grandkids. If her own kids had had their way, she’d be there already.

Hannah had insisted that she had to get healthy before she took up life with her kids. Julie had spent an evening with her the week before, baking cookies. And listening. What she’d figured was that Hannah needed time to find herself again before she dared to join the grandchildren she adored.

“Would you like me to read to you about Amy?” Julie asked, hands in her lap. Joy didn’t reply. She didn’t offer the book. And Julie didn’t take it from her.

She just started talking. About Amy. About some of the things behind what was on the page. Things that Julie, as the author, knew. Things that hadn’t made it to the page. She explained all of Amy’s thoughts and feelings.

Sara had come into the room and was now sitting several feet away. Hannah was there, too. Listening. Vanessa was no longer reading. The TV still droned softly.

Julie tuned it all out.

Smiling at Joy, she talked to her calmly yet confidently. She knew Amy better than anyone.

She shuddered at the thought of anyone, other than Lila and Sara, knowing that she’d written the new bestselling Being Amy series of children’s books. But considering the confidentiality code at The Lemonade Stand, she hoped that if Vanessa and Hannah had guessed, they’d keep her secret.

The little girl, dressed in jeans and a pink-and-purple short-sleeved shirt, with matching pink-and-purple tennis shoes, opened the book. Turned the pages. Almost as if she was following along with the story. Julie purposely spoke out of page order, to see if Joy got to the right page. Talking about the time Amy was in the bathtub in the morning instead of at night and her shadow was on the wall beside her. Then she moved on to her shadow being in the dentist’s office with her. Joy turned back a couple of pages.

Julie wanted to look at Sara, to let her know the little girl was engaged.

But she didn’t. She wanted Joy to feel her full attention. As though it was just the two of them there.

Just the two of them—and Amy.

For as long as Joy needed her.

* * *

A BUSY WEEK turned into a maelstrom. Hunter got everything done, with his easygoing nature intact. Most of the time he even managed to keep a smile on his face.

Except for the meeting he’d sat in on with Edward and Lila McDaniels, managing director of The Lemonade Stand. He didn’t know what he’d expected when he’d called Brett. But it hadn’t been an immediate appointment with Brett’s top employee at the Stand. He was told to bring Edward in. Hunter had already been vetted for safety purposes when he was hired to run the fund-raisers. And for this one visit, Edward, who had a current medical license, could get in on Hunter’s credentials. Just to Lila’s office and back outside.

That short trip down one hall had been more than Hunter had bargained for. The entire atmosphere—uplifting, supportive and yet somehow desperate, too—had been unlike anything he’d experienced in his life.

But his visit and Edward’s had worked. Sara and Chantel had gone to collect Joy from the neighbors and as of that very first night, Joy had been inside the safe environment, which had round-the-clock security.

Mary would be welcome there, too, if she chose to avail herself of the opportunity once she was well enough to leave the hospital. She’d suffered a severe blow to the head, and it looked like there could be complications, so she might not be out for a while.

Edward had not yet met his granddaughter. He was voluntarily undergoing a full evaluation, with background checks, to prove to anyone with questions that his daughter’s lack of contact with him was not a result of some horrible deed in his past. Or being a horrible man.

What Hunter knew, and others might not, was that if Cara wasn’t found alive, Edward was planning to take every step possible to be awarded full custody.

It was all way more drama than Hunter generally had in his life, and he got most of it from Edward, in the evenings, over beer.

He even felt that the strange week had impacted his carriage. His purposeful gait, as he entered the dinner theater he’d booked to host the Sunshine Children’s League gala, was different from his usual laid-back style. Hunter always built extra time into his schedule. For things like traffic. Catastrophes. Unexpected phone calls. His world was successful partially because of his ability to leave “urgent” out of his days.

But that Thursday he arrived with barely fifteen minutes to spare before dress rehearsal was due to begin for the following week’s gala. Still in the golf shirt he’d put on that morning, he was sweating. At least the dark color of the shirt hid most of the giveaway on that one. Again, not his usual style.

The lack of proper hygiene time irritated him, which put him even more off his game. And here he wanted Julie Fairbanks to be impressed enough to go out with him.

Or rather, accept a single invitation to dinner.

He’d neither seen the woman nor spoken with her since Sunday. He’d been hellaciously busy, and still, she was on his mind the second he woke up that morning. He’d finally reached the day he’d be seeing her.

That thought had sprung him out of bed and into the kitchen for coffee with a whistle.

Coffee was the first thing that had gone wrong. He’d emptied his canister the day before and had neglected to open a new one. Which meant going to the storage cupboard out in his garage to retrieve the canister waiting there, emptying the individual white plastic cups into their holder on the counter, and disposing of the canister.

A small problem. One he’d whistled through.

And then he’d turned on the hot water for his shower and discovered he had none. The thermostat on his hot water heater had gone out. A hundred-dollar fix—he knew a guy who’d come over half an hour later and had it fixed for him in less than that. Then a quick shower and he’d been on his way.

His route had been slower due to traffic he usually managed to avoid. Edward had asked to meet him for lunch, and since the guy was technically family, knew no one else in town and was really broken up about his missing daughter, Hunter agreed. He’d had a business lunch planned, which he attended, met Edward at two, and had to rush to his midafternoon meeting. From then on, he’d never quite caught up to himself.

No time for the second shower he’d planned before seeing Julie again.

“Hunter. I thought I’d be the first one here.”

Either her voice had invaded his brain, along with the images he’d been playing for weeks now, or she was standing behind him.

He turned slowly, his ready smile pasted on his face. “Then you don’t know me well enough yet,” he told her, immensely relieved to find that in spite of his tardiness, he’d beaten her to the venue. Timeliness mattered to her. He’d figured that out when another board member was late for their first meeting. She’d been gracious. But the way she’d continuously rubbed her hands together while they were waiting had given away her distress.

He was trained to notice stuff like that.

Or rather, the psychology degree he’d earned in college, in an effort to better understand people so that he could better know how to please them, had taught him that he needed a class in body language. Which he’d sought outside of his college training.

“I know you arrive fifteen minutes early for every meeting,” she said, coming toward him. Her long dark hair was pulled back, but the white shirt buttoned up nearly to her throat covered any skin she might have left exposed.

Hunter swallowed, pretty sure that she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Then he shook himself awake. Yeah, Julie Fairbanks had a perfect figure, great features and memorable eyes, but he was a California boy, and he’d had his pick of more beauties than most men met in a lifetime.

“Ah, but this is a dress rehearsal,” he said, leading her to the stage at the front of the room. He’d reached for her arm, but he’d somehow missed making contact again, just like at the festival. He wondered if she’d avoided his touch this time because she could tell he was sweating. He stopped just short of sniffing his armpit.

That she would certainly have noticed.

“Tensions tend to run high when acts come face-to-face for the first time,” he said. “They’re all vying for position in the lineup, while trying to determine which position would be best for them. They’re looking at the venue, determining how to fit their act into the space, assessing stage wing options for props or easy entrances and exits. They’re also finding out who they know, avoiding people they might’ve had words—or relationships—with in the past. Plus, they’re staking their claim to dressing-room space. And they’re doing all this while trying to appear blasé about the whole thing.”

In Hunter’s world, he and his staff dealt mainly with talent that could make it big, but hadn’t done so yet. Galas like Julie’s could be a chance at a big break. If the right person noticed them. Was impressed by them. Was in the audience at all...

Usually, with events of this size, there was at least one well-known agent or producer in the audience. He always saw to that. Kept the talent coming. Made the whole evening a win-win. And the level of his talent brought the producers and agents back.

All of it was in a day’s work for him.

Not that he expected Julie Fairbanks to know or care about any of that.

“So, what position would be best for them?” She actually met his gaze as she turned her head to look at him.

That was a first. Normally their eyes meeting, no matter how hard he tried to make it happen, turned into yet another near miss.

Blue. Her eyes were blue. He’d known that, of course. His were, too.

Blue and blue make blue. Crazy thought. From a crazy man. He needed to get a grip fast.

She’d asked a question. His mind struggled to recall it. Position. Right. She’d asked about position.

He had a flash of her on the couch in his study with her shirt unbuttoned...

No. What the hell was wrong with him? Hunter had never looked at a woman he was with and pictured her with her clothes off. Not unless he knew she wanted him to see her with her clothes off.

Some men did that. Lots of normal men did. Not him.

Just a rule he’d set for himself after a particularly heated fight between his parents, with his mother accusing his father of mentally undressing some woman at a party. His father had eventually become so riled, he’d admitted to having done that. Hunter, a kid at the time, had been completely sure his mother was wrong, but having heard his father’s admission, he’d made the rule for himself.

Julie turned those blue eyes on him a second time.

Position. Oh, yeah.

“I’m not sure there is a best position in a show like this one,” he said now, more serious than usual as he considered her question. Serious because he had to focus to stay on topic. “First is good since it guarantees you’ll be seen by everyone. But it’s so early in the evening that some folks might not have arrived. People are still eating. Chatting. Catching up. Generally just enjoying themselves. And not worried yet that the evening might end too soon.”

“Because the first acts are covered in the initial ticket price, no one needs to pay attention or push their buttons to stay. It won’t affect their wallets.”

“Exactly. It gets more intense, with more people actually watching the show as folks start to really pay attention. They have to decide whether the talent warrants another spend. Some will stay for the duration, just to donate, but a lot won’t. They’ll stay as long as they’re enjoying themselves.”

“So maybe, for the performers, it’s more about not getting the worst position,” Julie said. “Because if the talent that comes ahead of you isn’t good, you might not get to go on. And even if you do, there’ll be fewer people there watching.”

“The evening is wearing down at that point. People are usually quiet and watching the stage. Besides, any talent scouts in attendance are going to stay until the end.” At least Hunter’s did. Which was why his shows drew the level of talent they did, and why people paid so much money to attend one of his functions...

They’d reached the door that led backstage. Holding it for her to precede him, he told himself not to look at the perfectly shaped backside in the black jeans, or notice the way her wedged heels gave height to legs that had been crashing his thoughts for weeks now.

Still, as she turned toward him, waiting for him to follow, there was something...different about her. Like maybe she’d found the lightness in her step that he’d lost from his. Maybe she’d stolen it from him on Sunday. Yeah, maybe that was it.

Starting to feel a smile coming on, Hunter got to work.

CHAPTER SIX

JULIE HAD THE table set with fruit and fresh flowers, place mats and her favorite breakfast dishes before Colin and Chantel entered the breakfast room Friday morning. The family of three had a housekeeper who also did a lot of the cooking, but Julie had always reserved the right to prepare breakfast. When it had been just her and Colin, she’d needed the promise of time alone with her older brother to get her out of bed in the morning.

Needed to know that he’d know if she didn’t get up.

And since Chantel had come...it was just as important to start her day with her family together. Maybe more so. Much as she adored Colin, Julie found a greater understanding with the woman he’d married.

Plates of crepes were set down and, when they were empty, snatched back up as efficiently as she could manage without being rude. Ignoring the look between her brother and his wife—one that meant they were sharing silent thoughts about her—she was out the door before they were.

She’d been spending time with Joy for two days and was still the only one who could get any kind of response out of her. Lila and Sara wanted to give her a few hours alone with Joy that morning. She hadn’t told Colin or Chantel about the little girl yet. Not that she could say a whole lot anyway. But she hadn’t even mentioned that she was working directly, one-on-one, with a single child.

Reading to kids, doing puppet plays with them, having them paint and draw—her most common activities at the Stand—was fulfilling. Worthy expenditures of time.

And there was still that step back from personal intimacy. Allowing her to keep her private self safely tucked away inside.

It was how she wanted it.

And yet, here was Joy, who seemed to need her in a way no one else ever had. And she hadn’t been so eager to face a day since the night her beautiful, promising young world had crashed around her feet.

In jeans and a blue, button-down tapered shirt, she grabbed an art satchel out of the back seat of her BMW after she’d parked in the secured lot behind the Stand and headed inside the grounds. No one was sure what Joy might have seen the morning her aunt was beaten and her mother went missing.

No one knew what she’d seen before that, either.

Or experienced herself at the hands of her father. There’d been no outward signs of physical abuse—for which Julie was incredibly thankful.

But that didn’t mean the man hadn’t hit her. Only that he hadn’t done so with enough force to break bones. Or leave scars.

Sara and others were convinced that Joy’s silence was indicative of severe emotional trauma. But until the aunt could be questioned—other than the brief inquiry made by police as she was being loaded into an ambulance at the neighbor’s—Joy was the only one who could tell them what had happened.

And that was where Julie came in.

* * *

EDWARD CALLED, WANTING to meet for lunch again on Friday. And again, Hunter rearranged his schedule. Preparations for the two benefits he had going that night were running smoothly. He was half an hour ahead of schedule, as usual. There’d been some last-minute security issues and road closures with a 10K run he had set to kick off at six the next morning, but those were being handled. And Saturday night’s event to raise money for a political campaign was a roast. Other than arranging the venue, ordering food and drink, and taking care of the guest list and seating, his staff of three had little to do for that one.

He’d be attending the roast and had asked Julie to be his date for the evening. Or rather, had offered to take her so she could taste the desserts. He’d hired the same company to provide an after-dinner sweets table for her gala. She’d politely declined his invitation.

He’d originally thought he’d take Mandy—a first for him, mixing her pleasure relationship with business—but changed his mind. And was thinking of Julie again as he pulled into the posh resort where Edward had a room and saw the older man waiting for him at the valet post. Not an unusual occurrence if they were going out somewhere. They weren’t; Edward was just that badly in need of company.

His white shirt neatly pressed, his shined shoes pristine, the doctor held out a hand to Hunter as he stepped up to the curb. Edward had recently come back from the police station.

“If this was a stranger abduction, there’d be more chance that she’s already gone,” Edward told him, speaking of his beloved daughter as they sat on the patio of the resort’s Mexican eatery, the ocean restless in the distance. “But since she’s most likely with Shawn, they think there’s a good chance of finding her alive. Many abusers tend to become conciliatory, protective, even loving, after an attack. Our hope is Shawn is that type of abuser. If he lashes out when he’s drunk, we have a fairly good chance, too. As long as Cara can keep him away from the booze.”

Hunter shifted in his seat. He felt completely out of his element. And figured that if Edward’s daughter had been able to keep her husband away from whatever caused his heinous acts, she’d have prevented their current situation.

Watching the doctor rub at a nonexistent smudge on his water glass, Hunter felt for the guy. He didn’t expect great things of himself in the hero department. But for Edward, a man who’d dedicated himself to saving lives, being unable to save your own daughter had to be akin to burning in hell.

Remembering how frustrated and distraught his father would get when he lost a patient, Hunter looked out to sea.

He had to give his head a shake. The ocean had been a refuge for him back then, too, anytime his dad came home without the patience to deal with the sound of his mother’s voice. He’d go out to the beach. To surf. To lose the sound of his parents’ anger in the roar of the waves.

And then he’d go home, his usual cheery self, tell a joke, or if things were really bad, ask his dad to watch sports or go to the putting green. Soon all would be well again.

But this, a missing daughter...

“Is everyone positive that she didn’t go with him willingly?” Hunter asked. Maybe it was a horrible question to ask, except that it was a truth Edward had been living with for a decade. His daughter had forsaken family to be with a man who hurt her. So maybe the idea that her disappearance might have been voluntary wasn’t as alarming as the thought that his daughter was being held hostage by a maniac.

Nodding, Edward looked older than he had at the beginning of the week. Older than his fifty-two years. The lines around his eyes seemed more pronounced. “Among other things, she didn’t take her cell phone with her,” he said.

Hunter shifted again, wondering if a cool breeze would be along soon.

“But if they had to leave in a hurry, what with Mary’s...situation and all...”

He really wanted to come through for his dad and Betty. For Edward.

The older man’s smile was knowing. Sad. Almost as though he was giving up.

“They found her purse,” the doctor said. “Three hours north of here. It’d been thrown in a twenty-four-hour box-store trash can and was only found by accident. Her wallet was gone, but inside there was some ID cards, makeup, a handheld electronic reader with children’s books loaded and moist wipes. They’re going through it now.”

“Hopefully they’ll learn something...”

“Hopefully.” The doctor didn’t sound hopeful.

“It’s a start,” he continued. “More than they had before...”

Struggling to find anything in his repertoire for a situation such as this, Hunter dug deep. And still came up empty.

“I need a favor.” It was as though Edward had read his mind.

“Anything,” Hunter said, probably too eagerly. Anything he could do, he would do. They’d ordered but hadn’t been served yet. He could flag someone, get their food to go.

Or skip the meal altogether.

“I have a meeting this afternoon. An interview, more or less. I want you to come with me.”

“What kind of interview?”

“It’s with Joy’s counselor at the shelter. And some other staff. Apparently Joy hasn’t said a word since Mary got her to the neighbors that day. I want to see her...”

Edward’s voice broke. He visibly calmed himself, then said, “The people caring for her aren’t convinced it’s a good idea, particularly since she doesn’t know me. Or probably even know of me. At the same time, I’m family. And being with someone who loves her is vitally important at this point, too.”

He’d go. Of course he would. He just wasn’t sure what he could contribute...

“I have a tendency to come across as standoffish,” Edward said, looking him straight in the eye. “But you walk into a room and suddenly everyone feels comfortable.”

He wouldn’t go that far.

“This meeting is critical to me, Hunter. I can’t afford to have it go wrong. They aren’t going to risk that little girl’s emotional health—and I wouldn’t want them to—if everything doesn’t go perfectly. I know how much I love her. I know I can care for her. I just need a chance to get that chance.”

“When’s the meeting?”

“Four.”

Right in the middle of the time he’d allotted for the shower he’d planned to take before the evening’s round of party visits. Well, a washup and change would suffice.

“You want me to pick you up here?” It would take extra time. Meeting Edward at the shelter would work much better for him.

But this wasn’t about him.

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

And he had an idea...one that was growing on him in leaps and bounds. “Then, afterward, assuming they need a while to discuss things and you don’t get to see Joy right away, you can come to work with me. I always have two tickets to every event, and one of tonight’s functions is to raise money for some technically advanced machine for the new hospital here in Santa Raquel. It’s taking place on hospital grounds. You’d fit right in...”

Finally, something truly helpful he could do.

Introduce Edward to his own kind.

That way, he wouldn’t feel quite so alone while he waited to learn his daughter’s fate.

And his own, too, Hunter supposed, when you considered that he could possibly become guardian to a seven-year-old child he’d never met.

“If I’m not spending the evening with my granddaughter, I’ll probably take you up on that offer, son,” Edward said.

Sounding just like Hunter’s dad.

So much so that Hunter relaxed.

He had this.

CHAPTER SEVEN

AFTER A COUPLE of hours with Joy, followed by a board meeting in LA, Julie pulled back into the Stand’s parking lot just after two on Friday. Joy would be out of “school” for the day, and if she wanted to be with Julie, Julie wanted to be with her. According to Sara, they’d had to put Joy’s aunt in a medically induced coma—Julie wasn’t privy to the details—but it meant that Joy was alone.

A feeling Julie knew only too well. Shortly before the attack that had changed her life, she’d lost her own mother. And her father, too.

Memories of the debilitating fear that had taken over her life crept in even now, eleven years later. And she’d been nearly an adult at the time. Seventeen. Joy was only seven.

She’d coped by losing herself in the memories of her childhood. Expressing them through her drawing. And writing.

Amy, the little girl afraid of her own shadow, had been born during that time in Julie’s life. It was no wonder to Julie, and no mistake, in her view, that Joy clung to the fictional character. To the book.

She couldn’t stand in for Joy’s mother or aunt, but she could be a kind stranger who understood what she was going through during these first difficult days. And if there was a chance that she could help Joy tell someone what had happened the day her mother went missing... If there was any clue to her parents’ whereabouts that the child could possibly disclose, then she’d spend every moment she could trying to help Joy come out of her shell enough to communicate with them.

She’d had an idea and was feeling hopeful as she sat with the little girl in the same private room they’d been in that morning, a room in the school wing of the Stand’s main building. She’d set up two identical easels with a table in between. The table held pencils. Sitting at one easel, with Joy at the other, she started to draw freestyle. She invited Joy to do the same.

“This is how Amy came to be,” she told the little girl, her gaze on the page in front of her. She was drawing Amy. At The Lemonade Stand. Joy might not have figured that out yet. But Julie had faith that she would. “My mom was gone, too, and I was scared, and then Amy came into my head, like an imaginary friend, to play with me. Do you ever have imaginary friends?” she asked.

Kids had them. It was normal. Her minor in child development had taught her that much.

“Mine was a lot like me. I named her Amy. But I wanted her to be out here in the world, you know, so I could see her...”

Amy had been the way she remembered her younger self.

“So I drew her, just fooling around, and I started to feel better. So I drew her some more.”

The fictional face that was so familiar to her was taking perfect shape on the page. Usually Amy’s expressions were more serious; she was a little girl who had fears and learned that the only real thing she had to fear was being afraid. But today, Julie drew her differently. Today Amy’s eyes glowed with hope. There was going to be a grin on her face, too. Not the happy, secure, quiet smile she usually wore at the end of the books. But an ebullient, childish grin. Something she hoped Joy could remember feeling.

As she worked, she chatted. About Amy. Keeping her comments age-appropriate and one step removed. The grin was there on Amy’s face. But something wasn’t quite right. The chin maybe.

“Sometimes Amy thinks she’s the only one who knows stuff,” she said. “And sometimes she knows secrets that she’s afraid to tell because people who are bigger than her might get mad.”

After she’d been brutally raped, Julie had come home to Colin. He’d taken her to the hospital. They’d gone to the police. Her rapist was known to them. But he was the son of a powerful man, and in the end, she and Colin had agreed, understanding the consequences if they didn’t, to let the matter drop.

Amy had taken it all on.

No, the problem wasn’t the chin. She looked at the mouth again.

There was movement beside her. Joy had picked up a pencil.

Heart pounding, Julie left Amy’s face incomplete, moved down to the neck and shoulders, which she could draw without paying much attention. Dressing Amy in a T-shirt with butterflies, she watched Joy—also in a T-shirt with butterflies—out of the corner of her eye.

Afraid to do anything that might distract Joy, she continued to talk about Amy. About the reasons she liked butterflies—because of their soft wings and pretty colors, which was why Julie had always liked them.

Sara had said that she thought Joy was relating to Julie, or maybe to her childhood self, through Amy. She’d told Julie just to be herself.

Joy’s hand, gripping the black pencil, hovered over the page. Black was a color associated with anger. And fear.

But it was also good for outlining.

Julie steadied her own hand. Drew another long stroke. Analyzing Joy’s reactions wasn’t her job.

“Amy used to love chocolate ice cream best,” she said, fixated on that dark pencil in the girl’s hand, in spite of her admonitions to the contrary. “Now she kind of likes vanilla better sometimes.”

She was babbling. But kids liked ice cream. And she didn’t want to scare Joy off.

A circle was forming slowly on the page in front of the girl.

Julie fiddled with the collar of the T-shirt on her own page. Waiting to see what came next in Joy’s drawing.

Two dots, where eyes would go.

And then little broken lines straight down from them.

Julie didn’t need to be a psychiatrist to get that one. Just as Joy didn’t need to be an artist to draw an understandable depiction. Or use words to speak.

The precious little girl, whose father had most likely just abducted her mother, was crying inside.

* * *

LILA MCDANIELS, IN brown pants and jacket, with a top that was a darker shade, met Hunter and Edward in the small public lobby of The Lemonade Stand. Other than the nondescript, tiled room, the rest of the premises were accessible only by pass code or key.

“Edward.” The Stand’s managing director took the doctor’s hand briefly, released it and stepped back immediately. Hunter didn’t know if Edward noticed or not, but he didn’t think the reception boded well. “Hunter.” Lila turned her attention to him with a smile that, while not effusive, still held what seemed like genuine welcome.

What the hell?

“I’m so grateful to you for entertaining my plea,” Edward said, his tone about as far from standoffish as Hunter had heard. He crossed his hands one over the other in front of him and gave the older woman a smile.

She quickly turned to lead them toward a private door...

Shrugging off his impressions, putting them down to his own discomfort, he followed the other two back down the hall. The same hall they’d walked through when they’d come here a few days ago.

Edward’s granddaughter was now a resident at the Stand. Which made him more of a client than the total stranger he’d been the last time they’d visited. The man’s daughter was missing. His grandchild was traumatized. What did Hunter know about the nuances of any of that?

Figuring they were heading toward Lila’s office again, he was surprised when they stopped short before they reached it. They stood in front of an open door that looked like it led to some kind of small but nicely appointed conference room.

Not a lot of space for mingling, he noticed first. But the upholstered chairs at the long table were an attractive touch. Comfortable.

The beige color on the back wall offset the flowered prints. Not his personal taste, but for an event...

He’d set a dinner there if the room had been offered for his use. It would suit a small charity board consisting of members who all knew each other well—and didn’t intend to stay long.

Lila, with Edward standing at her side in the doorway, was introducing him and turned, stepping more completely into the room, so that Hunter could come forward, as well.

And actually see the two women sitting at the table.

He supposed the managing director continued to speak. He heard a voice. But he was no longer paying attention.

Julie Fairbanks was one of the women at that table.

Which confused the hell out of him.

* * *

HUNTER HAD AN hour to spare for Edward’s meeting. He wished he had all night. While he didn’t like feeling superfluous, particularly when he had so much to do, he walked into the conference room, took the seat next to Edward and stared at Julie Fairbanks.

Why was she there?

He tried the silent approach, trying to get her to look at him and read his mind. It failed.

“Dr. Mantle, I appreciate the urgency of your situation, but before we could even consider arranging a meeting between you and your granddaughter, we need to talk with you.”

The speaker, Sara Havens Edwin, as she’d been introduced, was a full-time counselor at the Stand. The introduction of Julie had included no title.

Edward nodded. “Of course.” His hands were folded on the table now, his attention fully on the blonde counselor. Lila, at the head of the table, had handed the meeting over to Sara.

For the most part, Hunter watched Julie. Was she a counselor, too? No one had ever said so. Surely Brett would’ve told him if she worked for him, when he’d asked about her on the golf course.

What had Brett said?

That she’d been hurt.

He’d assumed that meant she’d gone through a painful breakup.

She didn’t look in his direction. She watched Sara, with a glance or two at Edward as he answered basic questions about himself, including the fact that he’d taken a leave of absence from his practice.

“You can always go through the courts to get an order for visitation with your granddaughter.”

Hunter’s glance swung from Julie to Sara when he heard the counselor’s words.

“I’m aware of that,” Edward said. “Ms. McDaniels and I have spoken about it.” Edward’s smile at the director held gratitude. She nodded, and then he focused on Sara.

“In the first place, that would take time,” Edward continued with the air of one in charge, “although I understand there’s the possibility of an emergency temporary order. At this point, I’m not interested in my rights. I’m interested in the best care for my granddaughter...” His voice faded as he cleared his throat.

Hunter felt he should jump in. Say something to lighten the moment. It was the whole reason Edward had asked him to be there.

But Edward didn’t know Hunter well. When it came to emotional drama, he went surfing.

“I understand that further disruption in Joy’s life wouldn’t be good. I also know for a fact that family love is a strong healer,” Edward continued, then looked Hunter’s way.

He figured his uncle by marriage was doing just fine. So, fingers steepled at his lips as though he was completely familiar with such things, he nodded.

“Can you plan to stay around awhile if necessary?” Sara asked, giving Edward a piercing glance.

“Yes.”

“He’s got a room at my place anytime he wants it and for as long as he needs it.” Hunter addressed the counselor.

“I...didn’t realize Hunter was going to be here...”

He turned to Julie the second he heard her voice.

“I had no idea you were related to Joy’s grandfather,” she said.

“By marriage,” he felt compelled to say, to be completely truthful on that score. “His sister’s married to my father.”

Julie looked between Sara and Lila. “I’ve known Hunter awhile. He wouldn’t be here if he thought there was any reason to worry where Edward’s concerned.”

“Hunter is the reason Joy’s here,” Lila McDaniels said. “Brett Ackerman referred him to us.”

The glance Julie sent Hunter, as though she was seeing him in a new light, sent a jolt through him.

Giving him a “go surfing” impulse again. And yet, keeping him in his chair. What was it about this woman?

Why couldn’t he just move on?

“Julie’s being at this meeting was kind of last-minute.” Lila was speaking again. “She’s been...spending time with Joy. So far, she’s the only one who’s been able to get any reaction out of her at all.”

Hunter wasn’t surprised. He should be. But he wasn’t.

“You’re a counselor, too?” he asked Julie, somewhat disturbed that he hadn’t been privvy to that information. He’d assumed she was one of the social elite who sat on a lot of charity boards.

“No,” she said. “I...draw.” She looked away. Shutting him out again.

And that left him wanting “in” more than ever.

“Julie is doing art therapy with Joy.” Sara took over, leaving Hunter with the impression that there was more not being said at that table than was actually spoken.

Definitely not his forte.

“And you’ve had some success?” Leaning forward, Edward seemed about ready to take Julie’s hand across the table.

Julie nodded.

“Can you share it with me?”

With a glance at Sara and Lila, who both nodded, Julie said, “She drew a crying stick figure.”

The doctor’s lips pursed. His chin tightened. And Hunter saw a tear in the corner of his eye.

He cared about Edward and Joy. He wanted to help.

And, not for the first time, came up blank.

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