TELL ME YOUR SECRETS…
Cara Summers

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

To my newest daughter-in-law-to-be, Gert Fulmer.

Thank you for the love and joy that you bring to

my son, Kevin, and to our whole family.

(And thanks for being a fan and

enjoying my stories!)

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Epilogue

Coming Next Month

1

“I CAN’T MAKE UP MY MIND. Shall I have the scones with clotted cream—and ooooh, look at those strawberries…but the triple-chocolate layer cake is calling my name.”

My friend Pepper Rossi was studying the three-tiered dessert caddie the waitress had just delivered as if the fate of the world depended on her decision.

I felt equally serious about the decision that I had made. After plotting and planning for the last three days, I’d come to San Francisco to run it by Pepper.

Nerves knotted in my stomach. But I managed to keep my hand steady as I lifted the silver teapot and filled Pepper’s cup and then my own. I’d always run my plans by her when we were roommates in college.

Of course, those days were well behind us now that we were established career women. I had a job as a writer for a successful Los Angeles based soap opera, Secrets, and Pepper worked as a P.I. at Rossi Investigations, her brothers’ up-and-coming security firm in San Francisco. Recently, she’d met the man of her dreams, Cole Buchanan, an ex-CIA agent who also worked for her brothers. From the glow on her face whenever she mentioned him, it was a match made in heaven.

Even more recently than that, I’d engaged Pepper in her professional capacity to do a job for me. Hiring a P.I. was a first for me. But then life was throwing me one surprise after another lately.

Pepper’s hand was still hovering over the dessert caddie. “Take the cake,” I urged her. “You know you’re not going to be able to resist it.” Pepper was a fellow chocoholic.

“You’re sure?” she asked.

“If it’s as good as it looks, we’ll ask the waitress to bring another.”

There was a time when indulging in chocolate had gone a long way toward helping me to deal with life’s ups and downs. But it had lost some of its therapeutic value since the day five weeks ago when my whole world had shifted on its axis. That’s when I’d received an anonymous letter telling me that I was adopted.

Up until that moment, I’d led a rather uneventful existence—if you discount the broken collarbone I’d suffered at age eleven when my horse Dandelion’s Pride and I had parted company during a jump. I’d believed my parents were John and Marsha Ashby, both successful neurosurgeons in Chicago.

I was sure the letter was a prank, but my curiosity had kicked in and I’d phoned my parents. Mom and Dad had both gotten on the line in one of our typical “conference” calls. As busy and dedicated doctors, they’d always thought it more time efficient if they talked to me together. When I’d told them about the letter, I’d expected them to laugh and deny it, to reassure me that I was indeed their biological daughter and then get back to their busy lives.

But they hadn’t laughed and they hadn’t denied it. Instead, there’d been this long silence on the other end of the line. With my stomach clenched, I’d pushed for more information, and they’d finally confessed to the fact that they’d adopted me and they gave me the name of the private agency they’d used.

The moment I’d hung up I’d called Pepper and asked her to trace my biological family. A week ago, she’d sent me the information that had given me the first clue to my real past. She hadn’t been able to locate my biological mother. Her search had dead-ended when she found the adoption papers for me—and my twin sister, who’d been raised as the only daughter of James and Elizabeth McKenzie on their horse ranch near San Diego.

My first rather giddy reaction when I’d received the news was that this would make a great story line for Secrets. Twins separated at birth. My head writer was going to love me. Mallory Carstairs, the bad-girl diva of the show, was currently in a coma, and now she could awake to find she had a twin sister….

Then I’d reined in my overactive imagination for a reality check. I wasn’t a character on a soap opera. I was ordinary, nothing-ever-happens-to-me Brooke Ashby.

Except I had a twin sister I’d never met—an heiress who’d been missing for five weeks.

I watched Pepper slice into the chocolate cake. I’d let her enjoy one bite before I told her my plan. My head writer had been thrilled when I’d told her what I was going to do and she’d been more than willing to give me some time off. But I was sure that Pepper wasn’t going to be equally happy with me.

I watched with envy as she savored that first bite. Then as she scooped up a second, I took a fortifying sip of tea and said, “I’m going to the McKenzie ranch and masquerade as my sister.”

The cake froze just inches from Pepper’s open mouth, before her fork dropped with a clatter. “You’re what?”

Pepper’s voice was loud enough to make the elegantly dressed lady at a nearby table aim a frown in our direction. High tea at the sedate St. Francis Hotel in San Francisco was not the place for loud voices.

I cleared my throat and spoke around the little bubble of panic that had lodged in my throat. “Don’t worry. I’ve plotted it all out. I’m going to the McKenzie ranch posing as my twin sister, Cameron McKenzie.”

“Your missing twin sister. Didn’t you read the report I sent you? She disappeared five weeks ago. No one knows where she is.”

I’d read the report over and over again, trying to glean every detail I could about my newly discovered twin. I tried a confident smile. “If she weren’t missing, I wouldn’t be able to take her place.”

Pepper leaned forward, this time keeping her voice low. “Brooke, you can’t be serious about this. Five weeks is a long time. If there was foul play involved in her disappearance, then you could be putting yourself in danger.”

Pepper’s words had my stomach performing that little “flip” it had been doing ever since I’d first learned that my sister was missing. I set down my teacup. “I knew it. You do think something’s happened to her, don’t you?”

Pepper raised both hands. “I didn’t say that. The family hasn’t filed a missing persons report. They say she’s gone off like this before in a temper or on a whim. They claim not to be concerned.”

Wedding jitters was the official story that the family had put out. Always a bit headstrong, Cameron had simply gone away to “settle her nerves” about her upcoming wedding to Sloan Campbell. According to what Pepper had discovered, Sloan Campbell, the orphaned son of a man who’d once run the McKenzie stables, had been raised on the ranch but had left five years earlier to make his own fortune in the world as a horse trainer. He’d been quite successful, too. In May, one of his horses had won the Kentucky Derby. That was where he and Cameron had run into one another again, and it had apparently been love at second sight. One of the press clippings had termed it a “perfect match” for McKenzie Enterprises. Sloan was the expert when it came to horses, and Cameron was proving to be very talented at bringing in new business.

I drew out the report that Pepper had sent me and placed it on the table between us. I had lots of questions about the marriage and about Sloan Campbell. When someone disappears, it’s always the husband or the fiancé who’s the prime suspect.

“When Sloan marries Cameron—if the wedding actually takes place next month—they jointly inherit both the McKenzie land and the business.” The business being a multimillion-dollar horse breeding and training facility that James McKenzie and his father and grandfather before him had established and built. “Why jointly? Why not leave the whole thing to his only daughter?”

“My thought exactly,” Pepper said. “So I checked into it and discovered that James McKenzie is a patriarch in the true sense of the word. In spite of the fact that he’s survived into the twenty-first century, he has the antiquated idea that a woman can’t run the ranch on her own.”

I tapped my finger on the report. “My sister sounds pretty competent.”

“I agree. But the McKenzies seem to be a stubborn lot, and she hasn’t been able to convince her father of that. And there may be more involved from a business standpoint. Bringing back Sloan Campbell was a real coup. After his horse won the Derby, he could have pretty much written his ticket in terms of job offers. But from what I’ve been able to dig up, he wasn’t going to work for anyone else. He was going to use the nest egg he’s been saving up for the past few years to buy a ranch and build his own business. That was probably his goal when he left and went out on his own five years ago. I’m figuring a deal where he gets half of the McKenzie Ranch—an already established place—was a powerful lure.”

“But even if Cameron only comes into half the estate, there are millions involved and she’s missing. Any way you look at it, there’s a motive for foul play.”

“Which is why I don’t want you to go there pretending to be her,” Pepper said. “If you’re curious, why not just go as yourself?”

“I thought of that. But I’d just be a stranger. They could serve me tea and then brush me off.”

Pepper reached over and took my hand in hers. “This is a sister you didn’t even know existed until I sent you that report. If you’re worried about her, Cole and I can look into this further.”

“They don’t have to talk to you, either. But if I go there posing as Cameron, there’s no way they can brush me off. I’ll have a chance to see things and learn things as an insider. And I have a plan all plotted out.”

Pepper shook her head. “This isn’t a story line for your soap opera. You know you have a tendency to leap into things before you look.”

I took another fortifying sip of tea. My parents would have been in full agreement with her. As long as I could remember, I’d been cursed with an Alice In Wonderland–like curiosity. It was probably one of the reasons I became a writer. It wasn’t that great a leap from wondering what’s going to happen next to inventing what’s going to happen next.

“I know I can pull it off. I’ve studied all the photographs you sent me in the file plus a few I’ve dug up on my own. From what I can see, Cameron and I are identical twins.” We both had that Miranda from Sex and the City red hair. Of course, I wore mine in a braid down my back so I wouldn’t have to fuss with it. Cameron, on the other hand, wore hers in one of those chic shoulder-length styles that I’d always admired.

“All I have to do is shorten my hair a bit,” I assured Pepper. This was the part of the plan that was clear in my mind. I’d even made an appointment with a hairdresser.

“You’re going to need more than a haircut to pull this off.”

Exactly. That was why I had come to San Francisco. I was going to need more, and Pepper had the power to provide all of it. I just had to get her on my side. I wasn’t worried, not really. Hadn’t I been cocaptain of the debate team at the small private college Pepper and I had attended? The only problem was that Pepper had been the other cocaptain and her strength had always been rebuttal.

“I’ll need a little help from you, of course. But I know that I can pass for her.”

“For how long?” Pepper asked. “A few photos and the information I gave you won’t be enough. Someone is bound to figure out you’re a phony.”

“I told you I have a plan.”

“You always do.” Pepper’s frown deepened. “But sometimes they don’t work out.”

I could tell she was thinking of the time I had the great idea about slipping away from the dorm and going to a frat party at the neighboring state school. My plan had included donning disguises, climbing out of our dorm window via sheets we had knotted together, and “borrowing” our resident advisor’s car. It would have worked if we hadn’t had a flat tire and the local sheriff hadn’t stopped to help us out.

Pepper squeezed my hand. “Look, I know that this has been a shock to you—first finding out that you’re adopted and then learning that you have an identical twin.”

This was another reason why I’d driven up to San Francisco to talk to Pepper. Yes, I needed her help, but I also needed someone besides my parents to talk to. Mom and Dad were busy. They’d always been busy. Not that they hadn’t loved me and been proud of me. They had. But…

“What can I do to talk you out of this?”

I met her eyes steadily. “You can’t. I don’t believe that Cameron’s disappearance is due to the fact that she needed time away to ‘settle her nerves.’ I have this feeling that something’s wrong and that she needs my help.”

Pepper’s brows shot up. “A feeling? Are you talking about some special twin ESP?”

“Maybe.”

She considered that for a moment and then said, “How does that work when you’ve never known each other, never even met?”

“How should I know? We came from the same egg, share the same genes. I’m figuring we have to be quite a bit alike.” I paused to flip open the file that lay on the table between us. Pepper had been thorough in her research. She’d included pictures and background information on everyone at the McKenzie ranch. I pulled out a photo that had appeared in the local press announcing the engagement of Cameron McKenzie and Sloan Campbell. “Look at them. They look very happy together.”

Pepper rolled her eyes. “They’re posing for the press. They probably said ‘cheese.’”

“Maybe.” But I couldn’t believe that what I saw in the photo was faked. It was the only picture that Pepper had included of my sister’s fiancé, Sloan Campbell, and the same thing was happening to me that had happened every time I looked at it. I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off of his face.

He was dark-haired and tall, nearly a full head and shoulders above Cameron. If she was wearing three-inch heels—and I figured from other photos she was—that meant he was over six feet tall. Even in a tux, it was apparent that his shoulders were broad. There was strength there, and a certain magnetism that would probably be even stronger when it wasn’t being filtered through a camera lens. Hollywood and TV producers called it “star quality,” and Sloan Campbell had it in spades.

Yet, he wasn’t exactly handsome, at least not in a movie star pretty way. In my experience, actors built their muscles and hardened their abs in state-of-the-art health clubs. Sloan Campbell looked as if he kept in shape the old-fashioned way. He might not be movie star handsome, but there was something very compelling about his rugged features, something that made you believe that in a fight, this was the man you’d want on your side.

My instincts also told me that this was a man any red-blooded woman would want in her bed. I blinked as a thought struck me. Was this a man I wanted in my bed? Was that why I was so fascinated by his picture? I could feel heat flood my cheeks. He was my sister’s fiancé. And they looked very happy.

“Earth to Brooke.”

I dragged my eyes away from the newspaper clipping and met Pepper’s again.

“I’m waiting for you to elaborate more on this ‘feeling’ of yours that your sister isn’t a runaway bride.”

“Okay.” I drew in a deep breath. “From your accounts, Cameron loves the ranch and she holds an important job at McKenzie Enterprises. She gets to travel around the country, entertaining old clients and courting new ones. She’s good at what she does, and the business depends on her. The other thing that’s clear in your report is that she loves horses. That’s one thing I share with her, and I don’t think she would run away from her responsibilities. I think she’d handle her cold feet another way. She’d simply break off the engagement.”

“Dammit.” Pepper leaned back in her chair.

It was my turn to stare. “What’s the matter?”

“You’re beginning to make sense.”

Before I could comment, a waitress appeared at our table.

“Can I get you something else?”

“Two glasses of your best Chardonnay,” Pepper said. “I’m going to need more than chocolate to settle my nerves.”

As soon as the waitress moved away, she leaned closer. “I’ve talked about this with Cole, and we tend to agree with you that Cameron wouldn’t have run out on the job or the horses for this amount of time.”

“Then you can understand why I have to go there.”

Pepper grabbed my hand again. “What I see is a reason why you shouldn’t go there. It’s too dangerous. If someone else is responsible for your sister’s disappearance, he or she is not going to be happy if you show up as Cameron. Plus, we still don’t know who sent the anonymous letter—or why.”

“You’re not going to talk me out of this.”

“Yeah,” Pepper said as the waitress set down the glasses of wine. “That’s why I ordered the drinks.”

We reached for the wineglasses together and I raised mine in a toast. “To the best friend ever. Wish me luck?”

She touched her glass to mine and took a long swallow. “I have one more argument.”

As cocaptain of the debate team, she’d always had one more argument.

“How in the world are you going to carry this masquerade off? All you know about your sister is in that file. And what about the fiancé? How do you intend to handle him?”

Very carefully, I thought. I had a good idea that Sloan Campbell would be my biggest challenge once I got to the ranch. Once more, I attempted a confident smile. “I’ve got it covered. I’m going to tell them that five weeks ago I got mugged, and when I woke up in the hospital, I didn’t have any ID and couldn’t remember who I was. That’s why I haven’t come back sooner. And that way I won’t have to remember a thing about Cameron’s past life.”

Pepper sighed, then took a good gulp of her wine. “I should have known you’d come up with something. You always do.”

I met her eyes steadily. “I have to do this. She’s my sister. And I’m going to need your help.”

“You bet your life you are.” Pepper pulled out a notebook and began scribbling. “The mugging is a good idea. You arrived at the hospital with only the clothes on your back. So there was no way to trace you. We’ll need to establish where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing for the last five weeks. You’re a millionairess. Someone in the family is going to check into everything. And when the press gets hold of the story…”

She paused in her scribbling and tapped her pen on the notebook. “There will have to be a report about the mugging. Here in San Francisco, I think, because Luke has a friend who’s a captain in the SFPD. Because of the amnesia, you won’t have to explain why you were so far from home.”

“I knew you’d know what to do,” I said.

Pepper glanced up at me. “If you’re determined to do this, I want your ass covered.” Then she continued scribbling. “We’ll also need a doctor who can verify the memory loss, a place where you’ve been staying the last few weeks, a job. Maybe when you came to Rossi Investigations to ask for our help, we gave you something temporary. We’ll figure it out. Cole’s really good at this sort of thing. And what he can’t handle, my brother Luke can. He’s magic when it comes to hacking into official records and tweaking them a bit.”

I smiled at her. “This is just like Charlie’s Angels with Charlie handling all the background cover stuff.”

Pepper’s brows shot up. “Except that Rossi Investigations is much better than Charlie Townsend any day.”

“Of course, they are. That’s why I hired your firm to help me find out who I was.”

Pepper frowned at me. “And it took us five weeks to do the job?” Then she grinned. “Just kidding. Let them think we’re some kind of hick agency. Plus, your mugging took place in San Francisco, and Cameron’s disappearance didn’t even make the papers around here.” Her grin faded. “A definite sign of the power of the family to keep a lid on the story. You’re going to have to be very careful.”

“I will. Thanks for understanding.”

Pepper leaned closer. “I know what it’s like to find family that you didn’t know existed. But once you get to the ranch, I want you to keep in daily contact with me. Cole has a plane. We can be there in less than an hour.”

She set her pen down, and took a sip of her wine. “Once you get to the ranch, what’s the rest of your plan?”

“You always ask the tough questions.”

Pepper’s eyes narrowed. “That’s what friends are for.”

I shrugged and took a good gulp of wine myself. “Once I get inside the hacienda, I’m going to play it by ear. I’m sure something will come to me. My best plots always come to me on the fly.”

2

“WE’RE ALMOST THERE,” Cole Buchanan said as he turned his sporty red convertible onto the winding road that led to the McKenzie ranch. He and Pepper had decided that Cole should bring me to the ranch, get the lay of the land, and test the atmosphere before he left. He would explain about my memory loss, the investigative work that Rossi Investigations had done to help me find out my true identity, and that way everyone at the ranch would know that there was someone on the outside that I could turn to for help—just in case.

Cole was my driver instead of Pepper because the Rossis had decided he had a bigger intimidation quotient than Pepper did. It was really no contest. At over six feet, with a rangy body that was pretty much all muscle, Cole was not someone you would want to go up against. I’d also learned that he’d done sniper work for the CIA.

The idea that he and Pepper had met, fallen in love and were making a match of it, would never have occurred to me—not even as a remote possibility. But I’d seen them together and they suited each other perfectly. I’d already been thinking of how I could adapt their story for Secrets. While looking for her long lost twin, Mallory Carstairs meets and hires an ex-sniper to help her out.

“You can always change your mind.”

I jerked my thoughts back to the present.

“You don’t have to stay at the ranch,” Cole continued. “We can just say that you’ve hired me to make some inquiries and that you don’t feel comfortable staying there until you find out why you ran away.”

“No. I’ll be fine.” The whole idea of my coming to the ranch was to investigate Cameron’s disappearance from the inside. “I’m just having a little attack of stage fright.”

Truth told, I was having a major attack. Now that I was about to step out on stage, I was suddenly realizing that acting out story lines was a lot different than sitting on the sidelines and writing them. One of the things that I’d discovered in the past few days as I’d been poring over everything I could find about my sister was that we were different in one aspect. She would never have suffered from an attack of cold feet. Cameron had always been in a sort of limelight. Plus, she was confident, outgoing and probably very assertive. I, on the other hand, was a writer. While I experienced life vicariously through the characters I created, she went out there and boldly lived. I envied her that.

“We could also go to plan B and I could stay on as your bodyguard,” Cole said.

That, too, was something we’d discussed during the three days I’d spent in the offices of Rossi Investigations while Pepper and Cole established my cover story and drilled into me every fact they’d dug up on the cast of characters at the ranch.

At the end of three days, I knew each one of the players as well as I knew the characters on Secrets, maybe even better. But I’d rejected plan B. How was I supposed to find out anything with Rossi Investigation’s biggest intimidation factor dogging my every step?

I turned to Cole and put on my most confident smile. “I’m going to be able to do this.”

He pulled to a stop in front of an opened wrought iron gate that bore the name McKenzie Ranch. Then he turned to me. “I don’t doubt that. Pepper has told me a lot about you. But if you want help, Pepper and I are a phone call away.”

I felt tears prick behind my eyes. “Thanks. But I think I have a better chance of learning something if I do this alone. My sister would be able to do this. If I’m anything at all like her, I can, too.”

Cole gave me a brief nod, then guided his car through the gate and up the winding driveway. When we rounded the last curve and the hacienda came into view, I gave a little gasp.

The Hacienda Montega was listed in every book that chronicled historic homes in California. In addition to being an excellent example of Spanish architecture, the house had a mysterious and colorful history. I’d done some research on it that went beyond Pepper’s report. What I’d discovered was that the mistresses of the hacienda had a tendency to die young. Not even Cameron’s father’s wives had escaped. James McKenzie’s first wife, Sarah, hadn’t died, but she’d still been young when she’d run away with Sloan Campbell’s father. Of course, I’d tucked that little piece of information away for a possible story line. Then James’s second wife, Elizabeth, had passed away shortly after they’d adopted Cameron.

But there was a lighter and even more colorful side to the history, too. Originally built by Don Roberto Montega on the occasion of his marriage to the Spanish Countess Maria Francesca in the eighteenth century, the hacienda had eventually fallen into the hands of a silent film producer who’d only owned it a year before he’d lost both the hacienda and the land to a professional gambler named Silas McKenzie.

And the rest was history, as they say. Silas had married, mended his gambling ways and turned to his first love, raising Thoroughbred horses. From the looks of the hacienda, the stables and the other outbuildings, he must have had a knack for it. James, the current owner of the estate, was his grandson.

All of the pictures I’d seen paled in comparison to what I was looking at now. The main part of the house rose three stories with a bell tower at its center that thrust up another two. The colors were so intense—those golden stones, the reddish-orange tiles on the roof against a bright blue sky. My gaze swept along the arches and stone pillars that framed the courtyard, then rose to the lacy ironwork that fanned each one of the windows on the second and third floors. Flowers bloomed everywhere, crowding the paths bordering the walks, and spilling out of terra-cotta urns.

Beatrice McKenzie Caulfield, the sister of James McKenzie, the aging patriarch, was responsible for the flowers. I ran through the information I knew about her. She was renowned for her gardening skills and was a frequent participant and speaker at garden shows. In addition to that, she’d run the Hacienda Montega for the past twenty-five years since the untimely death of Elizabeth McKenzie. Beatrice was also the mother of Austin Caulfield, Cameron’s cousin, who’d taken over her job in her absence.

Cole pulled to a stop in front of the courtyard. Inside, I could see a fountain shooting sparks of light back at the sun.

“It’s beautiful,” I said.

“That it is,” Cole agreed. “Does it trigger any memory?”

I glanced at him in surprise.

“Get used to the question, Brooke. The moment you step out of the car, you’re Cameron McKenzie, suffering from amnesia. Are you ready?”

I drew in a deep breath and pushed open the door on my side of the car. “Ready.”

My step didn’t falter once as we walked up the path past the fountain to the huge wood door of the house. Cole knocked. I counted to ten, and Cole had raised his hand to knock again when the door swung open to reveal a small, brown-skinned woman who was as wide as she was tall. She stared at me for a moment, but even as she tucked the towel she was holding into an apron pocket, her face brightened into a smile that was almost as wide as her girth. “Ms. Cameron, Ms. Cameron, you’re safe!” She grabbed my hands, drew me over the threshold and enveloped me in a warm hug.

For a moment, she held me tight and I caught the scent of vanilla. Then she drew back, studied me at arm’s length, then pulled me in for another hug. “They said you’d be back. Mr. James and Mr. Sloan—they weren’t worried. But I…”

When she released me, I saw tears in her eyes. This had to be Elena Santoro, the woman who’d been the housekeeper and cook for the McKenzies for more than forty years. According to Pepper’s information, much of the job of raising Cameron had fallen on her shoulders after Elizabeth McKenzie had died.

Elena rubbed the heel of her hand against her cheeks. “I was worried. I shouldn’t have.” For the first time, she seemed to notice Cole at my side.

“Ma’am.” He nodded at her and withdrew his license from his pocket. “I’m Cole Buchanan of Rossi Investigations. Ms. McKenzie here was mugged in San Francisco a little over a month ago, all her ID was stolen, and she’s been suffering from amnesia ever since. If the rest of the family is home, perhaps you could let them know we’re here, and I could explain everything all at once?”

“You were mugged?” She reached out a hand, hesitated and then dropped it. “You’ve lost your memory?”

“Yes. Hopefully, it’s only temporary. But when I woke up in the hospital, I couldn’t remember anything—who I was, where I should go….” Seeing the concern in her eyes, I felt a little twinge of guilt, but it didn’t seem to be interfering with my ability to lie. “I hired Mr. Buchanan’s security firm to help me find out who I was, and they finally did.”

“How awful.” She did take my hands then and squeezed them briefly.

“The family?” Cole prompted.

“Yes. But only Ms. Beatrice is here. Mr. Sloan went to Kentucky to pick up a horse and Mr. James is in Los Angeles, having his yearly checkup. Mr. James will be back later today, but Mr. Sloan isn’t expected back until tomorrow. Mr. Austin is in Saratoga Springs with Ms. Linton at the races. But Ms. Beatrice is in her office. I’ll get her.”

Elena bustled away down the hall. For the first time I had time to glance around the huge foyer. The hacienda’s interior was no less impressive than its exterior. The floor was covered with honey-colored tiles that offered a nice contrast to the gleaming dark wood of a staircase that swept up to a landing, then split off in two directions to the balconied second level. In the center of the foyer stood a round carved oak table, nearly the size of the one I imagined Arthur had gathered his knights around. On top of it stood a huge crystal vase filled with flowers.

Elena led Beatrice McKenzie Caulfield around the side of the table. My first impression was that Beatrice would have made a great snow queen. Her hair was nearly white, and fell straight and long from a center part almost to her waist. Her eyes were a pale shade of blue, her skin porcelain. Even her clothes were pale. She wore light tan work pants and a shirt in a soft material that seemed to flow as she walked toward us. Her white canvas shoes made no noise as she approached. She was a tall woman, slender, with an ethereal kind of beauty that reminded me of Tennessee Williams’s Southern women. Blanche Dubois—but stronger. Colder. I had a feeling that Beatrice would hold her own very well against Stanley Kowalski.

I also had the distinct impression that Beatrice Caulfield had been studying me just as thoroughly as I’d been studying her. When she stopped in front of me, she was the one who broke the silence. “Cameron?”

The word with its question mark came out in a soft voice that somehow matched the rest of her.

“Ma’am,” Cole began to tell my story about the accident and my memory loss.

Beatrice interrupted. “Why were you in San Francisco?”

“I don’t remember,” I said. It was amazing how memory loss came in handy. “Do you have any idea why I might have gone up there?”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

Cole continued, telling the part where I came to Rossi Investigations and hired them to find out who I was. He’d nearly finished when a large black cat appeared around the side of the oak table, walked toward us and halted at Elena’s feet.

“Hannibal, aren’t you happy to see your mistress?” Elena asked.

The cat stayed right where he was, and the look he gave me was not friendly. Did that mean he knew on some cat instinct level that I wasn’t Cameron? Here was a complication that I hadn’t counted on. Pepper and Cole had warned me there’d be more than one.

Elena scooped Hannibal up and held him out to me.

The cat responded by hissing loudly and taking a swipe at me with his paw.

“Evidently, he’s forgotten you already,” Beatrice remarked.

“Don’t you pay any attention to him, Ms. Cameron,” Elena hurried to say. “The two of you were thick as thieves. He just needs some time to get used to you again.” She set Hannibal down, and he shot off like a bullet.

I wished that it was as easy to read Beatrice as it was to read the cat. The woman had registered very little emotion at seeing me, but she hadn’t shifted her gaze from me once during the time that Cole had talked. I found it impossible to tell from her eyes, but I had a feeling that she didn’t harbor any warm feelings for Cameron. Definitely a snow queen, I thought.

Finally, Beatrice turned to Cole. “Would you like something to drink, Mr. Buchanan? Iced tea?”

Cole smiled. “That would be great.”

Beatrice had Elena serve us tea on a patio off the kitchen that offered a view of the gardens and the stables in the distance. She was a good hostess and a good listener. By the time we were finished with our drinks, Beatrice knew pretty much everything that had happened to me in the weeks I’d supposedly been missing—everything we wanted her to know.

Finally, she rose. “James will be home late this afternoon. He knew that you’d be back, but I’m sure it will ease his mind to find out that he was right.” Then she turned to Cole. “Mr. Buchanan, if you’ll leave a card? My brother may wish to speak with you.”

Cole took a card out of his pocket and handed it to her.

She turned to me. “Make yourself at home, Cameron. I have work to do in the greenhouse.”

I waited until she left before I said to Cole, “Do you think she bought it?”

“I think the jury’s out. One of the things that we talked about is that while people may believe you’re Cameron, they may suspect you’re faking the memory loss. Do you want me to hang around until James gets here?”

“No.” I drew in a deep breath and let it out. “I feel like I’ve been given a little reprieve, not having to explain everything to James and Sloan right away.” I was really a bit apprehensive about Sloan and happy that I wouldn’t have to face him until the next day. In spite of that I managed a smile for Cole. “I’m going to do a bit of exploring and try to get to know my sister a bit better. I’ll be fine. Really.”

I walked Cole out to the door and waited until he brought my duffel from the car. In spite of my words, my stomach did a little flip as he pulled away. But in addition to apprehension, I also felt a little thrill of excitement. The adventure was about to begin.

3

A HALF HOUR LATER, I was restlessly exploring Cameron’s bedroom. Elena had taken me up right after Cole had left, and before I could shut the door, Hannibal had dashed in, leaped onto the bed and enthroned himself on the pillows as if he were staking out a claim.

Before I’d let Elena return to the kitchen, I’d asked her one of the questions that Cole and Pepper and I had decided we needed to know—a question no one had bothered with because Cameron had never been reported missing. Where was each of the cast of characters on the day that Cameron had disappeared? Once I had the information, I was to phone Pepper and then Rossi Investigations could check out the alibis. Since Elena had been able to give such an accurate rundown of everyone’s whereabouts when Cole and I had arrived, I’d figured she’d be a good source. And she had been. James and Sloan had been at the ranch that day. Miss Beatrice had been giving a speech at a flower show in San Diego about an hour’s drive away. Mr. Austin had been with the Lintons in Las Vegas. There’d been no censure in her tone, but I sensed that Elena didn’t entirely approve of Austin’s whereabouts.

Thanks to Cole’s and Pepper’s coaching, I knew who the Lintons were. Marcie Linton was my personal assistant. I’d hired her on about six months ago. Shortly after they’d met, she and Austin had started dating, and they’d since become engaged. Marcie had introduced Austin to her brother, Hal, and the trio had been very close ever since.

Cole had also learned that Hal represented a group of developers who wanted badly to get their hands on a strip of McKenzie land that ran along the Pacific. So far, James had rejected all offers. Evidently, McKenzies didn’t part easily with their land.

Once Elena had left, I’d ignored Hannibal, and embarked on the first step in my plan—learning more about my sister. Her bedroom was large and airy with two large floor-to-ceiling windows that opened onto small balconies. In decor the room was feminine—Cameron favored pastels—but it wasn’t frilly. The walls were ivory; the rug was an Oriental in muted shades of rose which were picked up in the bedspread and in the upholstered furniture.

In a small alcove, there was a couch—not a love seat, but a full-length couch, one I could imagine stretching out on and reading—or perhaps taking a nap. I tested it, and to my surprise, Hannibal jumped off the bed, ambled over and aimed a glare at me.

In spite of Elena’s assurances that cats had short memories and he just needed a little time to get to know his owner again, I couldn’t help thinking that Hannibal knew more than he was letting on. “Okay,” I said. “Maybe you can sense I’m not Cameron. But I’m trying to find out what happened to her. So we’re really on the same side here.”

He didn’t look convinced.

I didn’t have much experience with cats, but I’d handled horses who’d been initially skeptical of my abilities as a rider. The key was never to let them sense your weakness.

I turned to examine the bookcase next to the couch. There, I discovered a variety of books from Shakespeare’s Sonnets and well-thumbed copies of classics like Pride and Prejudice and To Kill a Mockingbird to a thriller about a diamond heist that had recently made the bestseller lists. I’d just read it myself, and I wondered in how many other things my sister’s taste and mine might coincide.

From the Queen Anne desk and a delicately hand-carved chair, I assumed she liked antiques. I’d never had the time to hunt for them, but I could appreciate their beauty. On the other side of the couch, I discovered a silly-looking red fox perched on top of an embroidered footstool.

When I picked it up to take a closer look, Hannibal made a growling sound deep in his throat.

I was intimidated enough to put the fox back on the stool, and I turned my attention to the small cabinet. Inside I found a bottle of brandy, a cache of chocolate and a bag of cat tidbits. Had I uncovered the secret to how Cameron and Hannibal had become “thick as thieves?” Selecting one of them, I turned back to the cat.

“Is this what you’re hounding me for?”

He moved closer and I gave him the treat. He hadn’t been on my list of the players at the hacienda, but if Cameron had kept treats for him right beside her chocolate…

“Look. I’m going to be here for a while, so you’d better get used to me. And I’m not going to steal anything from your mistress. She’s my sister.”

Hannibal blinked just as if he’d understood what I’d just said.

“We’re not enemies. Really. I’m beginning to like her. She has good taste—even in chocolate.”

Her cache was made in Switzerland.

Hannibal had no comment. I opened the cabinet, and this time I took out a treat for both of us. As he ate his, I took a bite of chocolate and turned my attention back to the room. Truth told, I not only liked Cameron’s taste, I envied it. Since moving to Los Angeles, I’d pretty much buried myself in work, and I hadn’t yet taken the time to make my apartment my own.

I investigated Cameron’s closet next while Hannibal stood in the doorway to keep watch. What I found was that any possible similarities between my sister and me came to an end when it came to clothes. First off, her closet wasn’t a closet. It was a whole room that opened off the larger bed-sitting-room area. My bedroom in my apartment wasn’t any larger. One wall housed drawers, cupboards, shoe racks and shelves. Along the other hung Cameron’s clothes, neatly arranged and sorted into pants, shirts, jackets, suits and dresses.

If you are what you wear, Cameron McKenzie was a fashion queen. I like clothes, too, but I bought mine off the racks, and Cameron’s all came from designer showrooms. No bargains from Wal-Mart here. So far Jimmy Choo shoes were something that I’d only seen on TV shows. My twin owned four pairs. Way to go, Cameron.

Insatiably curious, I’d searched through drawers and found she had a taste for gold, expensive lingerie and short nightgowns. I’d even tested her scent—something exotic and French that probably cost more than what I spent on a month’s rent.

But it was the bathroom that gave me the biggest surprise about my sister. The best description I could come up with was that it was like a little slice of paradise. There was a skylight situated so that sun, rain or starlight would be visible from the tub. There were gleaming marble tiles, a shower with frosted glass doors, brass faucets, and enough plants hanging and bursting out of pots to make one think of Eden.

I was aware of all that as I stood in the doorway, but my eyes never left the tub. Surrounding it on a wide ledge were glass bottles in various hues, filled no doubt with scents and oils and creams. And I counted twelve candles. The tub itself sank into the floor and it was big enough for two. I couldn’t help wondering if it had ever been used that way. Cameron and Sloan? My sister definitely had a sensuous side.

That shouldn’t surprise me. So did I. At least I was pretty sure I did. I just hadn’t had much time to indulge it—or perhaps, I hadn’t had much of a reason to indulge it. Cameron had her very attractive fiancé.

Turning, I moved back into the bedroom and began to pace. Bottom line, after an hour in my sister’s bedroom, I’d learned she had excellent taste in decor, expensive taste in clothes and the money to indulge it, and a passionate side to her nature—all of which I admired and envied her for.

To top it off, she was going to be heir to half of her father’s kingdom—worth millions of dollars.

Compared to hers, my life seemed rather mundane.

But my purpose here wasn’t about me, I reminded myself. I was here to learn all I could about Cameron and just why she might have disappeared on that day five weeks ago.

Moving to the window, I focused on what my next move should be. I’d fully expected to spend my first day on the ranch meeting all the major players that I would have to convince that I was Cameron without a memory. With Sloan and James away, I was out of plot line. The view from Cameron’s bedroom was the same as the one Beatrice, Cole and I had had on the patio, and my eyes were drawn to the stables. If Sloan had been here, I would have asked him for a tour and perhaps gone for a ride. It had been so long since I’d been on a horse.

But that might not be my best move. I was suffering from memory loss. So it might look strange if I walked down to the stables and asked someone to saddle up a horse. My gaze moved to the hills that bordered the valley the ranch sat in on the east and the west.

But I could ask for a car. After all, I was Cameron McKenzie, home after an absence of five weeks. Memory loss or not, I might be interested in driving around to see if something, anything stirred a memory.

It certainly beat sitting here in Cameron’s room with a cat who seemed to value me only for my ability to provide food. Elena would know whom I’d have to speak to. I hurried to the door, opened it, and then glanced back at Hannibal. He was back on the bed, sitting on his throne. “Coming?”

He made no move.

“See you later,” I said as I let myself out and shut the door.

ELENA HAD GIVEN ME the keys to an SUV that was parked right outside the kitchen. It had a McKenzie Ranch logo on the side, and anybody who needed to run an errand could use it. On impulse and out of curiosity, I’d driven up onto the bluff that formed a natural boundary on one side of the valley the ranch lay snuggled in. The road was unpaved and rough in spots. When I’d gone as far as I could with the SUV, I’d parked it and walked another half mile along a path that wove in and out of boulders until I’d reached the top.

All around me as far as I could see, lay the vast stretch of land that the McKenzies could lay claim to. I knew from the maps that Cole and Pepper had shown me that the shores of the Pacific were blocked by more hills behind me, but the estate extended all the way to the sea. Below me the ground sloped gently before it dropped off sharply into the valley below. Since I have a problem with heights, I was careful not to go near the edge. My view of the hacienda itself was still blocked by some of the boulders that dotted the bluff, so I walked farther along the narrow path to get a better look.

The wind had picked up, and to the west I could see huge dark clouds racing in from the Pacific. Thunder growled in the distance, and lightning split the sky.

Shades of Wuthering Heights, I thought. Not a good omen. Then I resolutely turned my back on the approaching storm and walked onward until I had a good view of the flat stretch of land in the little valley below.

From this vantage point, I could see everything that I hadn’t been able to see from the patio or Cameron’s window. Behind the hacienda there was an Olympicsized pool and a pool house surrounded by trees and terraced gardens. Fanning off from that I could see orange groves, tennis courts and what must be Beatrice’s greenhouses.

If Beatrice was responsible for all of that, my hat was off to her. The stables, along with the training and riding rings and what was probably once the original carriage house, were a short distance away. Here and there, I caught glimpses of a stream twisting like a silver snake in and out among trees which grew thicker in some places than in others.

And this was only the ranch land. The entire McKenzie estate, I reminded myself, included that prime undeveloped real estate along the Pacific Coast. All I could think was Wow!

Far below me, a truck pulling a horse trailer drew up in front of the largest of the stable buildings. A second later, two men climbed out and the larger of the two, the driver, went immediately to open the trailer door. Even at this distance, I could tell that the horse he led out by a tether was magnificent. Huge and black, the animal reared up as if he just had to stretch after being cooped up. I grinned, thinking that I’d felt the same way myself just a short time ago.

Then, instead of leading the horse into the stables, I watched the man leap up onto the horse’s back and ride him bareback across the nearest field. Admiration and envy streamed through me as rider and horse took the first fence and began to make their way toward the very hills I was perched on.

I let my gaze sweep the estate again as I struggled to identify the other emotions tumbling through me. Excitement and pride that all of this belonged to my twin sister. Reading Pepper’s report and studying the photos had whetted my curiosity. Now, seeing the hacienda, the land, from this vantage point was making Cameron even more real to me. But I wanted to know more. I needed to know everything. Obviously, we shared a love of horses, and hers had been easily nurtured here.

Although it had always been a dream of mine, I’d yet to own a horse of my own. My parents had pointed out the difficulties involved with trying to stable and care for one in Chicago. Aside from the expense, would it be fair to the horse? They’d been right, of course. They usually were. And they hadn’t stood in the way of riding lessons. Although they hadn’t been enthused when I’d wanted to try steeplechasing, they’d come to see me do it. In college I’d been a member of the riding club.

I’d often thought that it must have been hard for them to have a daughter who was so different from them. Oh, they loved me. But there’d always been that sort of bemused expression on their faces when I’d excelled in a field that was so outside of their own areas of interest. They were left brained, and I was right. I found myself wondering if they’d ever regretted not having a child of their own. I also wondered if Cameron had fit in better with her adopted family.

Thunder cracked and lightning split the sky, but I ignored both. Instead, I continued to think about my twin. Would a love of horses, of riding, be genetic? Wardrobes aside, in what other ways was I like Cameron—or not like her? Would she be able to understand me in a way my parents never had? More than ever, I felt the need to find out.

And soon. The more I saw of the ranch and the kind of life that Cameron had, the more I wondered why she would disappear.

Thunder boomed overhead this time, and the lightning flashed to my left almost simultaneously. I thought I smelled it. Below me, a line of pitch-black shadows raced across the valley reminding me of a shade being drawn down for the night. In the murkier light, the hacienda made me think of Thornfield, Manderley, the Château de Valmy and every other mysterious mansion gracing the pages of those Gothic novels I’d read as a girl. I thought again of the fact that the mistresses of this mansion had seemed to succumb to untimely ends, and a chill skittered its way up my spine.

Ridiculous, I told myself. If I was ever going to pull this impersonation off, I would have to keep a tight rein on my imagination. This was a working horse ranch, not some Gothic mansion plagued by secrets and long-covered-up murders.

On the other hand, my twin sister who stood to inherit at least half of all of this was missing. People had been killed for much less than this. Another chill moved through me.

Then the sky opened, and rain poured down so thick and fast that I could barely make out the path as I turned and began to wind my way back to the car.

The good news was I was still wearing the jeans, plain T-shirt and sneakers that I’d worn for my ride out to the McKenzie estate. The bad news was that I was soaked to the bone by the time I’d taken three steps and my new “Cameron” hairdo was destroyed. Pushing the sodden mess out of my eyes, I stretched my hands out in front of me like a sleepwalker. The car was too far away to seek shelter there, so I stumbled toward the darker shape of what had to be one of the boulders I’d skirted earlier. Once I reached it, I moved around to the far side and let it block the wind and at least some of the rain. Then I hunkered down to wait out the storm.

I wasn’t sure how long I squatted at the side of the boulder—probably not longer than five or ten minutes. The storm ended as quickly as it had begun. The rain stopped first, and gradually the sun began to peek through clouds that were quickly blowing away. As I rose to my feet, I could still hear thunder grumbling in the distance. I’d made my way around the boulder and back onto the path before it finally registered in my mind that the rhythmic pounding I was listening to wasn’t just thunder. It was also hoofbeats.

Realization came at the same instant that horse and rider shot around a curve in the path less than fifty yards from where I was standing. My heart lodged in my throat, my body froze, and my imagination took flight. Burned into my mind was the image of horse and man, all muscle and speed, moving in perfect unity—the mythic centaur in the flesh. In that instant, I wasn’t sure which animal was more magnificent—man or beast.

Luckily, the man had quick reflexes. He reined the horse in sharply. The animal reared, protesting loudly. It might have been the sound of the horse’s distress or perhaps it was the sight of those powerful hooves that jolted me free of the trance I’d been in, but I finally leaped toward the side of the path. I landed hard on the uneven ground, felt my ankle twist and give out just before I crashed into the boulder.

Behind me I heard the struggle between horse and rider, the horse neighing, a deep male voice talking in a soothing tone. Turning, I saw the horse rear again, but the man’s hands remained steady on the rope, and he continued to talk in a firm tone.

“Easy, Saturn. Easy, boy.”

I suddenly realized that this must be the same man I’d seen take the horse out of the trailer and ride him bareback across the fields. Not only had he kept control of the stallion and saved me from injury, he’d also remained seated. Admiration streamed through me. I had some idea of the skill it was taking to calm the frightened horse.

I was sitting in the shade of the boulder, but the horse and the man were bathed now in sunlight and I was able to take in more details. The man had slid from the horse and stood with his back toward me, talking to the horse and keeping a firm grip on the tether. He and the animal had a lot in common. Both were large and dark and strong—perfectly matched in the struggle that was going on. The man’s hair curled around the nape of his neck. He was broad in the shoulders, lean in the hips, and long in the legs. With his jeans and chambray shirt plastered to him like a second skin, I could see the movement of each sculpted muscle as he quieted the horse with patient skill. The horse, still frightened, reared again and pawed the air. The stallion was larger, stronger. But the battle wouldn’t be decided on size alone. It would come down to who had the stronger will.

The man let out the rope, then drew it in again, each time getting closer to the horse. The closer he drew, the calmer the horse became. It was like watching a slow, steady dance of seduction. Admiration and something else I was much less familiar with moved through me and settled in a hot little pool in my center. I had the strangest sensation that I was melting. Then his hands were on the horse, moving gently and firmly over those muscles, while he continued to talk, to croon almost. I had no idea how long I sat there in the shadow of the boulder watching man and horse.

And imagining what it would feel like to have those hands on me.

“Are you all right?” His focus was still on the horse, and since he asked the question in the same tone he’d been using to quiet the animal, it took me a moment to realize that he was speaking to me.

“Yes.” My voice was so breathless I didn’t recognize it. “I’m fine.” To prove it, I dug my fingers into a crevice in the boulder and pulled myself to my feet. I’d totally forgotten about my ankle, and when I put my full weight on it, I sat right back down with a little squeal.

He turned toward me then. “You’re hurt. Did one of his hooves…” His voice trailed off and his eyes narrowed. “Cameron? I didn’t recognize you at first.”

Of course he hadn’t. I could understand that. I hadn’t recognized him, either. He’d been intent on calming the horse, and I’d been equally intent on him. It was only now as he quickly tethered the horse and strode toward me that I realized this was Sloan Campbell, my sister Cameron’s fiancé.

“You could have been killed.”

The anger in his voice was clear—even though it was tightly leashed. And the simple truth of his statement had a chill moving up my spine. He was no less intimidating than when he’d been thundering toward me on the top of the horse. There he’d looked mythical. Now he looked tough, arrogant and furious. He’d evidently spent all of his patience on Saturn.

Why had it taken me so long to realize who he was? I’d certainly spent enough time studying his photos. Perhaps it was because the magnetism I’d sensed in the pictures was even more potent in real life.

“How badly are you hurt?” His tone was sharp with accusation.

“I’m not hurt. The horse didn’t touch me. I just twisted my ankle. I—”

He dropped to his knees and focused his attention on my ankle.

“It’s swollen,” he said. His fingers were as gentle as they’d been on the horse as they moved the wet jeans up my legs. While he probed my ankle, I found myself staring at his hands—the long fingers, the wide palms—and I tried to ignore the warmth that was unfurling in little ribbons up my leg. Other men had touched me, some casually, others intimately, but I’d never felt this kind of intensity before.

Adrenaline. I’d nearly been run down by the horse. That’s why I was reacting this way.

“I don’t think it’s broken.” I heard relief in his tone. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” He glanced up at me then.

“No. You handled the horse beautifully. I’m—” Every other word I intended to say slipped out of my mind as I met his penetrating gaze. His eyes…they were dark gray, the color of the kind of fog that could swallow you up and make you lose all sense of direction. I suddenly felt as though I were losing mine.

Then as if he’d satisfied himself that I was all right, he grabbed my shoulders and gave me a quick shake. “Where the hell have you been for the past five weeks?”

SLOAN TOOK A DEEP BREATH and clamped down hard on the all-too-familiar emotions swirling through him. Anger, annoyance, relief. Those were the standard feelings that Cameron had been able to pull out of him ever since they’d been kids and his job had frequently been to get her out of scrapes.

But not this time. Five weeks ago when she’d first run off, he’d understood her need to get away and think. The truth was, he’d needed some time himself. But as the weeks had rolled by, understanding had turned into annoyance and finally into anger.

“Five weeks is a long time. Couldn’t you have at least called your father to let him know you were safe?”

“I couldn’t. I—”

“Couldn’t? Or maybe you expected me to come running after you and drag you back here so that you could save face?”

“Save face?”

He barely kept himself from shaking her again. In spite of the fact that James McKenzie had claimed he was confident that Cameron would return when she’d had time to think everything through, the old man had been worried. Hell, he’d begun to worry himself—and now she’d returned, looking so damned innocent. It had been years since Cameron had tried to use that innocent look on him.

That realization was what had him narrowing his eyes and studying her more carefully. There was something about her…something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Her eyes were that same brilliant shade of green, but they seemed different. Darker. And there was something in them right now. Something that he’d never seen before. Arousal?

The sudden response in his gut was also new. He tightened his grip on her arms. “What the hell kind of game are you playing?”

4

HE THOUGHT I was playing a game? I struggled to get my mind around what he’d just said. But as long as I was looking into Sloan Campbell’s eyes, my brain felt numb. My body, on the other hand, was far from numb. My senses were operating at full power. Sloan was only touching my shoulders, yet I could feel the pressure of each one of his fingers—hot like a brand on my skin. He was so close that I could catch the scent of rain and horse, so close that I could feel his breath on my lips. So close that if I leaned forward just a bit, I could taste him.

Don’t move, I told myself. Don’t move. But I was shocked at how hard it was not to.

“Well?” He prodded me with another little shake, and it helped.

“I’m sorry.” My voice and my mouth were finally working. Now it was up to my brain. And he was right. I was playing a game, so I’d better make my first move. “I don’t remember being Cameron. I am. I must be, but I just don’t remember.”

“Come again.” He dropped his hands then, but I could feel those eyes boring into me while I told him my story—the mugging, the fact that my purse had never been recovered so there’d been no way for the police to identify me. When I told him about waking up in the hospital and not having any idea who I was, I had the distinct impression that he could see right into me, that he knew what I was thinking. A little tendril of fear worked its way up my spine. Sloan Campbell might have a gentle side, but I sensed that this was a man who could be hard when he wanted to be.

“You’re saying that you don’t remember anything before you were mugged?”

His tone was skeptical, but I’d expected that. I could handle it. After all, how many people encountered a person who’d lost their memory in real life? Mostly, it occurred as a plot device in movies, romance novels, or soap operas. “My doctor assures me it’s temporary.”

“If you don’t remember who you are, how did you get here?”

That explanation I had down pat. I told him how I’d hired Rossi Investigations to find out who I was. “It took them a while because no one ever filed a missing persons report.”

“We assumed you’d come back after you’d sorted things out.” His tone was neutral. I couldn’t tell if he was buying the memory loss or not. I wasn’t an actress. I just wrote story lines for professionals who could bring them to life.

Then he was quiet for so long that nerves knotted in my stomach. To fill the void, I said, “I drove one of the SUV’s up here to see if getting a bird’s-eye view of the ranch would stir up some memories.”

“Did it?”

“No.”

“Do I look familiar to you?”

I shook my head. “I don’t remember you, but I recognize you from the newspaper clippings the P.I.’s gave me. You’re Sloan Campbell, Cameron’s—my fiancé.”

Tilting his head to one side, he continued to study me. “I’m not sure what kind of game you’re playing.”

The man’s eyes were mesmerizing, and for a moment, just one mad moment, I was tempted to confess. Then I thought of Cameron and what I’d come here to do. “That’s the second time you’ve said that. Why are you so sure I’m playing a game?”

He touched me then, just the brush of a finger along my jawline. “Because you’re all about games. And you’re a sore loser.”

“Loser?” I had no idea what he meant. I was finding it very hard to think while he was touching me.

Without warning, Sloan slid his hand to the back of my neck and touched his mouth to mine. I didn’t move. I couldn’t. The kiss was so soft. He didn’t press, didn’t demand. He simply tasted very gently. Still a riot of sensations moved through me.

Don’t respond, I told myself. But I could feel my lips soften and part. I could feel my whole body melt.

All the time he watched me with those gray, knowing eyes. I had to clench my fingers into my palms to keep from grabbing him. I wanted to use my hands on him, to drag them through his hair, to test the muscles under that shirt. All the while his taste poured into me until I was nearly drunk with it. With him.

When he drew back, I took a minute and prayed that my voice would be steady. Then I said, “What was that for?”

He regarded me for a moment through narrowed eyes. “A welcome back.”

But I knew it had been a test. What I wasn’t sure of was whether or not I’d passed.

“C’mon.” His tone turned brisk as he took my arm and helped me to my feet. “Let’s see if you can walk on that ankle.”

I concentrated on doing that. This time I was careful when I put weight on it, but it held. “It’ll probably be weak for a few days.”

Without comment, he led me over to where Saturn was still munching grass. Then he cupped his hands. “I’ll give you a leg up.”

I didn’t pretend to misunderstand. He intended for me to ride the horse. “I drove up here in an SUV.”

“It’s your right ankle you twisted. It would probably be better if you didn’t drive until it’s stronger. I’ll send someone up to fetch your car.”

Still I hesitated. I had a feeling that as far as Sloan was concerned, this was another test. I just wasn’t quite sure what to do to pass it.

“Once he lets off a little steam, Saturn can be a perfect gentleman. If I’d put him in his stall right after taking him out of the trailer, he might have kicked a hole in one of the stable walls. But he’ll be fine now.”

Turning toward the horse, I raised a hand and ran it down his neck. “Hate to be confined, do you? I can sympathize with that.”

To my surprise and delight, Saturn neighed softly and turned his head to nuzzle my shoulder. I laughed as I looked at Sloan. “He’s quite a flirt.”

Sloan didn’t return my smile. Instead, he just regarded me with an odd expression in his eyes. “You don’t usually flirt back.”

I had a feeling that I’d failed some sort of test, so I figured I might as well go for broke. Placing my good foot in his cupped hands, I grabbed a handful of Saturn’s mane and swung myself up onto his back.

When I looked down at Sloan, he was still studying me. “He likes you, Red.”

“Red? Is that what you call me?”

A mocking glint came into Sloan’s eyes. “You tell me when you get your memory back.”

I met his eyes steadily. I was going to have to learn to hold my own with this man. “You still think I’m playing some kind of game, don’t you?”

Without answering, he swung himself up behind me, then reached around me to gather both ends of the rope into his hands. “The jury’s out on that one. I’ll let you know when I decide. In the meantime, you’ll have to tell your story to your father.” He raised a hand and pointed to the road that wound its way from the main highway to the ranch. “I believe that’s his car right now. If we hurry, we’ll reach the ranch about the same time he does.”

Sloan urged Saturn down the slope. Then he added, “James McKenzie is not an easy man to fool.”

SLOAN CAMPBELL WASN’T an easy man to fool, either. He loosened the tension on the rope to give Saturn more freedom to make his way down the slope. He was a man who prided himself on his ability to size up people as well as horseflesh. But “Red”—he’d decided to call her that until he figured out who she was—Red had had him going there for a few moments.

He had to admit that she was a dead ringer for Cameron, but his gut instinct told him that whoever she was, she wasn’t Cameron McKenzie. He let his gaze drift to the distinctive red hair, and wondered if hers had come out of a bottle. She had the same slender build, the same surprisingly long legs, considering the fact that she was barely five foot four. In body type and coloring, she could have been Cameron’s twin.

Except Cameron didn’t have a twin.

Still, whatever annoyance he felt for being taken in by “Red,” however temporarily, was more than matched by the admiration he felt for her guts and her creativity. He’d come damned close to buying her memory loss story. He might have if it weren’t for her eyes.

He’d seen something when he’d first grabbed her that he’d never seen in Cameron’s eyes. Desire. It wasn’t something a man could miss, and it had triggered a response in him. The kiss had been a test, and he wasn’t pleased by the fact that he’d wanted for a moment to take it beyond a test. What he’d felt when his mouth had pressed against hers had been raw and stunning. And for one brief moment, with her taste pouring into him, he’d wanted to go further. The only reason he hadn’t was because he hadn’t been sure he could stop himself from taking her right there on the bluff.

No woman had ever pushed him that far that quickly before. Certainly not Cameron. The kiss had been the clincher. The slender woman sitting in front of him was not Cameron McKenzie. But that left the questions—who the hell was she? And where was Cameron?

When Saturn finally reached level ground, Sloan urged him into a trot. His annoyance with himself deepened at the fact that he’d never once questioned that Cameron had run away in a snit five weeks ago. James hadn’t questioned it, either. No one had. She hadn’t taken her car, but she often used a limo service, claiming that being driven allowed her to get work done.

The night before she’d left, he and Cameron had had words, and she’d threatened to back out of the wedding, and he’d told her to go ahead. Not that he thought she would. Though six years separated them, they’d grown up together, and he knew her very well. She was high-strung, used to getting her own way, and he’d figured she’d stayed away five weeks to figure out a way to come back, go through with the wedding and still save face.

She wasn’t going to back out of the wedding. She’d given her word to her father. And while she might be spoiled, Cameron McKenzie never went back on her word. He’d convinced himself that she’d stayed away out of pride.

He’d told “Red” nothing less than the truth. Cameron liked to play games, and she didn’t like to lose. Had she found a double and set up this little charade by herself? For what purpose? But if she hadn’t set it up, he didn’t like the alternative explanations.

His gaze shifted again to the woman sitting in front of him, and his glance fell on the delicate curve of her neck right where it joined her shoulder. Arousal bloomed inside of him again, as raw and primitive as it had been when he’d kissed her.

The attraction he felt for her was going to be a problem. And he’d have to handle it.

Because the alternative was that Red was up to her neck in Cameron’s disappearance. A missing heiress and a ringer who was trying to take her place just a month before the wedding? He didn’t like that scenario one bit.

And Red might not be in this alone. There were groups of developers who would do a lot to get their hands on that strip of land along the Pacific. Sloan frowned. He liked that scenario even less.

He just had to figure out which way to play it. To play her. He wouldn’t let James or anyone else know his suspicions. No need to worry the old man before he had some evidence or at least a clearer idea of what had happened to Cameron. Besides, he might learn something from letting Red play out her little charade. Give her enough rope and she just might hang herself.

One thing was certain. Until he knew exactly what her game was, he was going to keep her on a very short leash.

SLOAN SAID NOTHING MORE on the ride back to the ranch, but I was intensely aware of him behind me on the horse. When we arrived, we rode past the stables and up a path that led to the back of the house. He dismounted, but before I could follow suit, hard hands gripped my waist and the next second I was on the ground. “Be careful when you put weight on that ankle.”

He didn’t step back right away. He just looked at me as if there was some answer in my eyes that he was determined to extract. If I’d known what it was, I would have given it to him.

By the time he dropped his hands, my knees had gone weak so I was very careful as I followed his advice and tested my ankle gingerly. “It’s fine.”

“I’m going to leave you in the kitchen with Elena. She’ll have an Ace bandage, and you’d better ice it tonight.”

I looked at him then, but his expression was unreadable. I wished that I could figure him out. Then maybe I could control my reaction to him. One minute, I was sure he was mocking me or testing me. The next he was kind and thinking of something like an Ace bandage.

Or kissing me. I was trying very hard not to think of that kiss.

An ancient-looking man, who had the slight build of a jockey, and the wrinkled face of Rumplestiltskin had followed us up the path and now took the rope from Sloan.

“Make sure you walk him in one of the rings and cool him down, Gus.”

The old man snorted. “You’re telling me how to handle a horse? I was working them before you were born.”

Sloan laughed as he turned to me. “Ms. Cameron’s back, but she doesn’t recognize you because she’s lost her memory.”

Gus shifted his gaze to me and nodded. “Welcome back, Ms. Cameron.” His eyes were nearly as penetrating as Sloan’s, but I saw a twinkle in them. “Lace Ribbons will be happy to see you. I’ve seen that she’s been exercised regularly while you’ve been gone.” Then with another nod, he turned and led Saturn away.

“He likes me,” I said.

The look Sloan gave me was enigmatic. “He’s known you since you were able to get down to the stables on your own.” Taking my arm, Sloan urged me onto the patio where I’d had tea earlier with Cole and Beatrice and then into the house.

“Now that Gus is spreading the word of your return, I want to be the first to let James know. I’ll help him get settled in his rooms, and then I’ll send for you. It might be too much of a shock if you just walk in.”

“Fine.” I watched him head toward the main foyer. That would give me a reprieve—and a little time out of Sloan Campbell’s disturbing presence.

As I made my way to the kitchen, I heard Elena welcoming James—my father. I was going to have to start thinking of him that way, I reminded myself.

In the meantime, I really needed to figure Sloan out. The fact that I was attracted to him—and there was no use denying that anymore—meant that I wasn’t thinking clearly about him. But I knew enough from creating characters that most people were defined by their motivations—the whys. What were Sloan’s? My instinct told me that he was not buying my story entirely. But why wasn’t he?

Did he have some reason to know for certain that I was not Cameron suffering from amnesia? I stopped short in the middle of the kitchen as I realized one reason he might have for seeing right through my little masquerade. Was Sloan Campbell responsible for my sister’s disappearance?

5

JAMES MCKENZIE’S ROOMS were at the back of the house, Elena informed me as she led the way along a corridor. After helping put an Ace bandage on my ankle, she’d taken me to Cameron’s room and waited while I changed my clothes and freshened up a bit.

It was my first opportunity to dress in my sister’s clothes. Pressed for time, I’d settled on a pair of navy cotton trousers with a white silk blouse and pulled on the closest pair of boots. Luckily, everything had fit. I had stories all ready in case they hadn’t. “I lost weight after the accident.” Or, “I gained some weight after the accident.”

On impulse, I’d grabbed some of Cameron’s scent out of a crystal bottle and dabbed it on. It was more exotic than the kind I usually favored, but I’d thought it might help with the cat. And much to my relief and surprise, it had. When I’d stepped out of the closet room, Hannibal hadn’t hissed or attacked. He’d simply sent me a bland look from his little “throne.”

“See. He’s beginning to remember you,” Elena had said.

Privately, I figured that Hannibal’s more friendly attitude had more to do with his newfound access to cat treats than with memory.

“This is it,” Elena announced as she halted in front of the door at the end of the corridor. At her knock, I heard a voice boom, “C’mon in.”

When Elena stepped aside, I drew in a deep breath, then, opening the door, I walked in.

And froze. The room was impressive to say the least. It was large, nearly thirty feet long and a good twenty feet wide. Light poured in through three windows that stretched from floor to ceiling and nearly filled the far wall. Each one had a balcony with a lacy wrought iron balustrade, and each was topped with stained glass.

Sloan stood leaning against one of the window frames, his face in the shadows. But I could feel that he was looking at me. James was seated in a thronelike chair to his right. There was a large ornately carved desk in front of him. Through a door to my left, I glimpsed the foot of a bed. The wall to my right was filled with bookshelves. Leather sofas and chairs were clustered on honey-colored wood floors. There was even a game table with a chess set at the ready.

The whole effect was homey and inviting.

“Come closer, gal. I can’t see you while you’re standing in the shadows.”

The deep voice carried the same authority that I’d noticed earlier in Sloan’s, and I moved forward, suddenly and overwhelmingly curious to see the man who’d raised my sister. Pepper had shown me a photo, but as I drew closer, I saw that it hadn’t done him justice.

James McKenzie was as impressive as the room. He was a large bear of a man, and in spite of the fact that arthritis had largely confined him to his wheelchair, his complexion was still ruddy, and he was strikingly handsome. Though his hair was streaked with white, I could tell that it had been red at one time. But it was his eyes that held my attention. In the short time that I’d been standing there, I knew that I had been quickly and thoroughly summed up. That ability to cut through everything and see right to the core was another thing that he shared with Sloan, I thought.

Did that mean he was going to be just as suspicious of me as Sloan was?

“Surprised that I’m still alive, are ya?”

“No. I mean…I don’t…”

“Remember anything,” he finished for me. “Sloan filled me in on your mugging. It’s the only reason that I’m not giving you a dressing-down for putting us through all this worry.”

I glanced at Sloan, but with the light shining through the windows behind him, I still couldn’t see his expression.

When I looked back, James was still studying me with an almost hungry look in his eyes. And I thought I saw a trace of sadness, too. Or regret? Wasn’t he happy that I was back?

James rose from his chair and extended his arms. “Come give me a hug, gal. I’ve missed them. And you.”

I moved around the desk and walked into James’s outstretched arms. “Welcome home. It’s good to have you here.”

The words and the fierceness of his hug warmed me. My parents had never been much for showing affection in a physical way, and I found myself envying my sister. On impulse, I wrapped my arms around James and held tight for a moment. “I’m really glad to be here.” And I was.

When he finally drew back, James studied me for a minute. “You don’t remember anything?”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I don’t even remember how I ended up in San Francisco.”

He released me and eased back down in his chair. “You seen anything yet that triggers a memory?”

“No. I went through my room and my clothes, and I rode up into the hills to get a view of the whole ranch, but it was like I’d never seen any of it before.”

“Good. Keep at it,” James said. “The sooner we get you back to normal the better. I’ve discussed it with Sloan, and I’m going to contact the rest of the family and summon them here for a dinner party tonight to welcome you home. Your cousin Austin’s in Saratoga Springs, but he’s got the jet. You up to it?”

“Sure.” My stomach lurched a bit, but what else could I say?

Sloan circled the desk so that he stood with me in front of it. “James’s theory is that seeing one or more of them may help you remember. I’m more of the opinion that meeting them all en masse might cause you to run away again.” The two men exchanged a look that held both understanding and humor.

He loves the old man, I thought. It was then that I realized that Sloan had come here to pave the way for me, not out of kindness to me, but because he truly loved James. My admiration for him moved up a notch.

“Don’t let Sloan sour you against your kinfolk,” James said with a grin. “We’ll let them do that all on their own.”

Sloan laughed then, and the rich sound filled the air. I found myself smiling at him, and he smiled back. There was no mockery in his eyes this time. But I could see something else, something more intimate and it had something hot spreading through me. The heat kicked up several degrees when he lifted a hand and with one finger traced a little half circle under my eye. “You’re tired, Red. You’d better rest so that you’re up to handling them and dealing with their questions.”

I couldn’t move. I was sure my legs had turned to water. He’d barely touched me, but I felt it clear down to my toes.

He dropped his hand abruptly and turned to James. “I have to get back to work.” Without another word, he strode to the door and opened it.

I stared after him, finally accepting what I had tried to deny before. I was attracted to Sloan Campbell. Big-time. I’d been attracted from the moment I’d first seen his picture, and it had only increased when we’d met face-to-face on the bluff and he’d kissed me. I could no longer blame it on adrenaline. It was lust.

My stomach knotted. I’d come here to learn all I could about my sister, to find a clue to her whereabouts—not to fall in lust with her fiancé. And I couldn’t yet dismiss the possibility that he might have had something to do with her disappearance. These were the kind of plot complications that would be great for Secrets. But they should not be happening to nothing-ever-happens-to-me Brooke Ashby.

At the door, Sloan turned back and looked at me. I realized something else. He knew exactly what effect he was having on me.

What in the world had I gotten myself into?

“Take a nap,” he said in that authoritative way he had.

“You’ll be here for dinner,” James said to him.

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

When Sloan closed the door, I turned to face James and there was a moment of awkward silence between us.

“He’s a good man,” James finally said.

“Yes.” So far, I could agree with that assessment.

“He’ll make you a good husband.”

I didn’t have an answer ready for that. But I sensed that Cameron and he had had this conversation before. “Do you have any idea why I ran away?”

James watched for a moment. “Everyone figured it was bridal jitters.”

I studied him right back. He was a man who was used to getting what he wanted. “And I’m the type of coward who would have run away?”

“No.” I saw a flash of something in his eyes. Pride? “But you’re headstrong and you have a temper. You and Sloan had a little argument the day before you disappeared.”

“About what?”

James shrugged. “You’ll have to ask him.”

“So I ran away to punish him?” I could understand that my sister, the woman that I was coming to know, might have done that.

“You ran away to think,” James corrected. “From the time you were a little girl, you liked to get away from everything and think.”

Something moved through me. I’d always done the same thing. Wasn’t that one of the reasons I’d borrowed the SUV and driven up into the hills? “So you weren’t surprised when I just disappeared?”

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