Giving up is not her style

The odds are about a million to one. But after eleven years, P.I. Maria DiMarco jumps at the possibility that her brother might still be alive. And when she makes a wish on a rare pre-Christmas shooting star, well, it could be a sign. Logan Collier doesn’t think so. Not that Maria should put her trust—or hope—in her ex-love, who long ago left her heart in pieces.

Yet here Logan is in Key West, helping Maria chase down leads and, like her, trying—and failing—to ignore the attraction heating up between them. Even if her search takes her nowhere, Maria isn’t giving up. Not on finding her brother…or on a second chance with Logan.

“It’s late. I should get going.”

“Logan, you haven’t been here twenty minutes yet,” Maria protested.

“I can’t last any longer without doing something, uh, stupid,” he said, moving past her to leave her hotel room.

“What if I want you to do something stupid?” she whispered, closing the distance between them until he could smell her light flowery scent. She anchored her hands on his chest, stood on her tiptoes and put her mouth on his.

He didn’t try to resist her. He couldn’t, even if he’d wanted to. It had been almost a dozen years since they’d kissed, yet she tasted familiar. Their mouths nipped and suckled as though time had never passed.

Dear Reader,

I’m delighted to announce exciting news: beginning in January 2013, Harlequin Superromance books will be longer! That means more romance with more of the characters you love and expect from Harlequin Superromance.

We’ll also be unveiling a brand-new look for our covers. These fresh, beautiful covers will showcase the six wonderful contemporary stories we publish each month.

So don’t miss out on your favorite series—Harlequin Superromance. Look for longer stories and exciting new covers starting December 18, 2012, wherever you buy books.

In the meantime, check out this month’s reads:

Wish Upon a Christmas Star
Darlene Gardner

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

While working as a newspaper sportswriter, Darlene Gardner realized she’d rather make up quotes than rely on an athlete to say something interesting. So she quit her job and concentrated on a fiction career that landed her at Harlequin/Silhouette Books, where she wrote for the Temptation, Duets and Intimate Moments lines before finding a home at Harlequin Superromance. Please visit Darlene on the web at www.darlenegardner.com.

To my sister Lynette Revill, the private investigator, for patiently answering my questions and for having such a cool profession.

And to the families of the victims of 9/11, especially the more than 1,000 victims whose remains weren’t identified.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

MARIA DIMARCO STARED DOWN at the photo of her once vibrant brother, then back up at the woman who’d broken Mike’s heart when he’d been barely eighteen.

“Why would you come here out of the blue and show me this?” Maria asked, a bite to her voice.

The angry question had barely escaped her lips when she caught sight of the glittering gold star on top of the Christmas tree in the corner of her office. In the season of goodwill toward men, she needed to keep better hold of her temper.

“Why wouldn’t I come to you?” Caroline Webb asked. “You’re a private investigator.”

Caroline had been waiting outside her office door at the strip mall on the outskirts of Lexington, Kentucky, when Maria returned from her appointments late that Monday afternoon. At first Maria hadn’t been positive she recognized her. In a red coat that matched the stripes in the candy canes on the light poles and high-heeled black leather boots, Caroline looked more like a fashion model than the girl she remembered. Caroline had also lost weight, played down her Kentucky accent and was no longer a brunette but a blonde.

Maria handed back the photo. “Perhaps you’d better explain.”

She shrugged out of her black pea coat and hung it on a hook next to the door. Bracing herself to talk about the brother who had died in the 9/11 terrorist attack, she flipped the switch that turned on the tree lights. The festive sight didn’t stop the waves of sadness from washing over her.

“Can we sit down?” Caroline indicated the chairs flanking the desk at the back of the room. Perhaps she realized it would be tougher for Maria to get rid of her if she acted as though she’d come here with an appointment.

“After you,” Maria said with a sweep of her hand.

Caroline took off her coat, too, revealing a long-sleeved green dress that hugged her slim figure. Above her left breast was a pin of a holly wreath, and she smelled of an expensive perfume. She took her time settling into one of the utilitarian chairs, then passed the photo over once more. Maria’s black-haired, blue-eyed brother wasn’t the only one in the picture. He had his left arm slung around a much-younger Caroline’s shoulder. Mike was smiling. She was not.

“The photo’s from senior year, a few days before Mike dropped out of high school and went to New York City.” Caroline brushed her newly blond hair back from her face, calling attention to her expertly made-up eyes. “It came in the mail yesterday.”

“Who sent it?” Maria asked.

“That’s the thing. I don’t know. There was no return address, no note.” Caroline pulled something from the outside pocket of her leather handbag—Coach, as trendy as it was expensive—and held it out. “There was, however, a second photo.”

The teenage Caroline was the only person pictured. It was a side view of her sitting on a bearskin rug beside a fireplace with her knees pulled to her chest, completely nude but with none of her private parts visible.

“Mike promised me he’d destroy that photo,” she said, her voice a murmur.

“Obviously, he didn’t.” Maria couldn’t imagine how the person who’d sent the photo had come into possession of it. However, she still didn’t understand why Caroline was here. Did she want to hire Maria to make sure no other nude pictures of her surfaced? “Are there more?”

“No, just the one.”

“As these kinds of photos go, this one’s pretty mild,” Maria said. “I suppose I could try to find out who sent it, but I don’t see the point.”

“I think I know who sent it,” Caroline said, her voice steady. “I think it was Mike.”

“What?” The word erupted from Maria. Pain lanced through her, strong enough to have felled her if she hadn’t been sitting down. “You know that’s impossible. Mike died at the World Trade Center.”

Her visitor leaned forward in her chair, her gaze pinned to Maria’s. “What if he didn’t? What if he’s still alive?”

Maria had clung tight to that hope after the terrorist attack. Mike had started working as a busboy at the Windows on the World restaurant only a few days before. She’d rationalized that he might not have shown up for work that day. As the days and the weeks and the months went by with no contact from him, however, she’d had to let go of the hope.

With as much calm as she could muster, she handed the two photos back. “I’d like you to leave now.”

Caroline made no move to take them. “I haven’t even told you yet why I think they’re from Mike.”

Maria reached for the other woman’s cool hand and pressed the photos into it. “Somebody sent you the pictures as a prank, Caroline. I assure you it wasn’t my dead brother.”

“It wasn’t only the pictures,” Caroline said. “Mike called me, too.”

Maria shook her head. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, coming in here and lying to me like this, especially eight days before Christmas.”

“It’s not a lie!”

“Oh, no? What did Mike do? Leave a message on your voice mail that he wasn’t dead, after all?”

“You don’t have to be sarcastic,” Caroline said.

But she did. Even though eleven years had passed, the pain of losing her brother was still so raw Maria could barely stand it when someone mentioned his name. Of all the DiMarcos, he’d been the most like her, in both looks and temperament. That hadn’t always been a good thing.

“What would you have me do?” she asked.

“Hear me out,” Caroline said. “Can you at least do that?”

Maria’s law enforcement training kicked in. She’d been a dispatcher and a police officer before she’d become a private investigator. She knew not to discount anything, no matter how preposterous, before hearing the entire story. She nodded once.

“Thank you.” Caroline took an audible breath. “I got the first call about a week ago on my apartment phone. It was a man. He said in this whispery voice, ‘I miss you, Caroline.’ I asked who it was. ‘How could you forget me?’ he said, and hung up.”

It sounded like a classic prank, although more insensitive and cruel than most. “What came up on your caller ID?”

“It said Wireless Caller but didn’t give a name or number,” she said. “I only picked up because Austin was asleep and I didn’t want the ringing to wake him.”

Maria’s eyes dipped to Caroline’s ring finger. The overhead light glinted off a pear-shaped diamond that appeared about two carats in size.

“Austin’s my fiancé,” Caroline explained. “We’re getting married on Valentine’s Day.”

Mike’s impassioned voice insisting that Caroline would be his wife someday came to mind, along with her own, telling him he was being a fool. Maria couldn’t bring herself to offer congratulations.

“Why did you leap to the conclusion the caller was Mike?” she asked.

“I didn’t, not then,” Caroline said. “After a while, I even started to forget about it. But then Saturday, the day the photos arrived, I got another call. I probably shouldn’t have picked up, but I couldn’t stop myself. It was the same man. Again he told me he missed me.”

“Is that all he said?” Maria asked.

Caroline shook her head, her teeth worrying the red lipstick off her bottom lip. “I demanded to know who it was. He said it was Mickey. And that’s when I thought it really might be Mike.”

“Mickey?” Maria repeated.

“We took a shortcut through an alley once when we were in downtown Lexington. A mouse darted out from behind a Dumpster and Mike screamed,” Caroline said. “So I started calling him Mickey. You know, short for Mickey Mouse.”

Maria refrained from saying she thought the nickname was mean-spirited. If she tallied up the transgressions Caroline had committed against Mike, that one might not even make the top five. Dumping him in the cafeteria in front of all his friends topped the list.

“I never heard anybody call him Mickey,” Maria said.

“Nobody else did, only me, and only when we were alone,” she stated. “You know how macho Mike was. He hated the nickname, because he didn’t want anyone to know he was afraid of mice.”

That sounded like Mike. He’d projected a tough-guy exterior that only those closest to him knew shielded a vulnerable heart. Maria could feel her own heart speeding up, thumping so hard she thought Caroline might hear it. “Are you sure nobody else knew about the nickname?”

“Positive.”

Mike’s remains had never been found. They’d never spoken to anyone who had seen him go into the World Trade Tower that day. They’d never buried him.

“Did the caller say anything else?” Maria asked.

“No,” Caroline said. “He hung up. And Saturday I got the pictures in the mail, just like I told you.”

Maria felt almost dizzy. That wouldn’t do, not if she was going to get to the bottom of this. She tried to shut off her emotions and think like the private investigator she was. “Do you have the envelope the photos came in?”

“I do.” Again Caroline dug into the side pocket of her handbag. “Here it is. And here’s a printout of my phone record I got off the internet. I circled the two anonymous calls in red pen.”

The envelope was plain and white, with what appeared to be a computer-generated typed address. Handwriting comparison, then, wasn’t a possibility. There was no return address. The postmark was from last Wednesday in Key West, Florida.

Think, Maria, she commanded herself before looking back up at her visitor. “Does anyone you and Mike went to high school with live in Key West?”

“I don’t think so,” Caroline said.

Something to check out, Maria thought.

“How about Mike?” she asked. “Did he ever talk about going there?”

“I don’t remember,” Caroline said. “But I do remember the warmer the weather, the better he liked it.”

That was true. Even during light snowfalls, about the only kind they got in Lexington, Mike had complained as though they were enduring blizzard conditions. The climate in Key West would appeal to him.

If he were alive. Oh, God, could her brother be alive?

Maria was holding Caroline’s phone records. That was the place to start. She’d just finished a background check she was running for a client, leaving her free to unravel the mystery. She got up from the chair, went to her desk and picked up a pad and pen.

“After I look into where the phone calls came from, I’ll be in touch,” she said. “What’s a number where I can reach you?”

Caroline crossed one long leg over the other. “I’d rather you didn’t call me.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ll contact you.” She tapped a manicured finger against her lips. “Here’s the thing. I don’t want my fiancé to know about this. I don’t want anything to interfere with the wedding.”

“Why would it?”

“Austin’s last name is Tolliver,” she said. “His father, Samuel, is the former governor.”

Caroline could have added that the family was rolling in cash. Maria seemed to remember the Tollivers had amassed their fortune from tobacco and horse racing. She recalled that Samuel Tolliver had provided the bulk of the financing for his campaign for governor.

“Austin’s following in his father’s footsteps. He’s a state senator. This fall he’s running for Congress. I can’t take the risk the press will pick up on this story.” For the third time, Caroline rummaged in her handbag. This time she pulled out a checkbook. “I can pay you.”

To find her own brother? Maria’s stomach turned over at the thought. “I don’t want your money, Caroline.” She was surprised her voice was even. “The question is, what do you want?”

“If Mike is alive,” she said, her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed, “I just want him to leave me alone.”

When Caroline was gone, Maria tried to call up the routine steps she took on missing person cases. She heard blood rushing in her ears. Her heart beat so fast she couldn’t concentrate. After all this time, could Mike really be alive?

She got up from her chair and stepped outside, hoping the cool, fresh air would enable her to think more clearly. A chill ran through her and she hugged herself. At five-thirty, and almost the shortest day of year, it was already dark. A thin streak of light slashed through the sky.

A shooting star!

Shooting stars were magical, her mother had claimed when Maria was growing up. If you saw one before Christmas and wished upon it hard enough, she used to say, your wish would come true.

The only other time Maria had spotted a shooting star before the holidays, she’d wished for Rollerblades, and they’d appeared under the tree on Christmas morning.

What could it hurt?

She focused on the streaking light and wished with all her might.

* * *

LOGAN COLLIER LAID THE tall, bulky box containing the artificial Christmas tree against the stairs and positioned himself behind it.

“Need any help down there?” his mother called from the top of the steps.

“I’ve got it,” he answered. “I just need you to move out of the way.”

He shoved, inching the box a few steps at a time up the stairs until reaching the tile floor of the kitchen. Like the rest of the modest, two-bedroom house where his parents had lived for more than thirty years, the kitchen was big enough but just barely. It would be a tight squeeze to get the box past the table.

“Can you get it to the living room for me?” His mother was a warm, cheerful blonde who got way too into the spirit of the season. On her green sweatshirt, Santa jumped his reindeer-driven sleigh over a snowy rooftop.

Logan pushed, propelling the box across the tile floor, onto the carpeting in the living room and toward the spot where his mother always set up the tree. He’d been surprised not to see it decorated already when he’d come home last night from Manhattan, where he’d lived for the past twelve years since he’d graduated from college.

“Tell me again why we’re putting up a tree two days before your trip.” Logan wasn’t out of breath, but neither was he breathing easy. He needed to take the time from his busy schedule to hit the gym more than just two or three times a week.

“We’ve got to make the most of what little time we have together, honey.” She always called him that. In his early teens, it used to bug Logan until he’d found out she’d had two miscarriages before he was born and one afterward.

He ripped open the duct tape somebody—probably Dad—had used last year to bind the box, then pulled up the cardboard flaps to reveal the tree branches.

“You’re trying to make me feel guilty about not spending Christmas with you and Dad, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Maybe a little,” his mother admitted.

“Not gonna work,” Logan said. “Not when you’ll both be cruising the Caribbean.”

His parents would leave for the trip this Wednesday, six days before Christmas. Logan had made the travel arrangements to coincide with his own return to New York City.

“If you didn’t feel guilty, honey, you wouldn’t have bought us the tickets.” Mom stood back while he set up the base of the tree and got the lower portion in place. “You don’t have to keep treating us to trips, you know.”

Actually, he did. Because his mother had battled diabetes and other health problems for years, his parents had made do on his father’s salary while Logan was growing up. Dad earned enough as a forklift operator in a warehouse to cover necessities but not extras. In recent years Mom had been healthy enough to work part-time as a cashier at a grocery store, but Logan had a sense they still struggled.

“Don’t take away my fun, Mom,” he said. “I like treating you.”

“Then I don’t understand why you can’t come with us,” she retorted.

Logan got down on his knees and started plumping the branches. “I told you why. I have to work.”

“You always have to work.” She positioned herself beside him and grabbed a limb, shaping one of the flexible plastic branches to achieve maximum fullness.

“Dad’s at work right now,” he pointed out.

“Today is only December 17,” she said. “Your father has Christmas week off like normal people.”

“The holidays are a great time to network.” Logan had been employed by a financial planning service in New York City ever since he’d moved there. He’d steadily climbed the ranks, in large part because he understood what it took to get ahead. “We’ve got a lot going on for our clients next week. Parties. Dinners. A suite at the Knicks game. I have to be there.”

“I’m glad you have a good job,” his mother began. Logan got ready for the “but,” certain he already knew what she’d say.

“But don’t you think you should spend your money on the woman you’re going to marry instead of on me and Dad?” she finished.

He straightened, went to the box and withdrew more of the tree. He got another piece in place before answering. “That woman doesn’t exist, Mom. I’m not engaged.”

“You’re thirty-three years old, honey. That’s not so young anymore.” She sounded as though she was breaking a difficult truth to him. “Are you at least dating someone?”

“Occasionally.” He dated off and on, when he had the time, but rarely went out with a woman for more than two or three dates.

“Anyone special?” She asked the same questions every time he visited Kentucky or he flew her and Dad up to see him in New York. He was used to it by now. He even had a strategy to deflect the inquisition: say as little as possible.

“Nope,” he said.

After a few moments of silence, his mother changed the subject. They talked companionably of inconsequential things for the next hour while they decorated the tree with the ornaments and lights Logan brought up from the basement.

After Logan topped the tree with the traditional gilded angel that had been handed down from his grandmother, they stood back and admired their handiwork. With the afternoon sun streaming through the picture windows in the living room, the tree’s tiny white lights mimicked flakes of snow. His mother favored an artificial tree because of the risk of fire associated with a real one. Since she’d started putting pine-scented potpourri underneath the tree, he couldn’t tell the difference.

“You’ll never guess who I ran into the other day,” his mother said conversationally, her voice sounding too innocent to be true. “Maria DiMarco.”

Yep. Logan was right. His mother had an agenda.

“Maria looked great. She’s such a pretty girl, with that black hair, those blue eyes and the pale skin.” His mom paused. When he said nothing, she added, “She’s single again, you know.”

That wasn’t news to Logan. By his estimation, Maria had been divorced for four years and two months.

“Real subtle, Mom,” he said wryly.

“But you haven’t even brought home a girl to meet me since you and Maria broke up,” she said.

“Maria and I were over in high school,” he answered. “I haven’t seen her in years.”

More than eleven years, to be exact. The last time their paths had crossed was at Mike’s memorial service. With her then-husband by her side, Maria hadn’t said more than a few words to Logan. He hadn’t expected her to, not when her brother wouldn’t have been at the Windows on the World restaurant at all if it hadn’t been for him. He was amazed that her sister, Annalise, still used him as an investment advisor.

“You two used to be so in love,” his mother continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “What would it hurt to see if the spark is still there?”

“Maria married somebody else,” he reminded her.

“Only because she was confused. She wouldn’t have even looked at another man if you hadn’t—”

“Drop it, Mom,” he interrupted, more sharply than he’d intended. It had taken him a long time to get over Maria DiMarco, but get over her he had. “I’m not going to see her.”

“Not even though it’s almost Christmas?” his mother asked in a small voice.

He knew without saying that she considered it a magical season when anything could happen. No doubt because she was always watching those sappy holiday movies on the Lifetime channel. Real life didn’t work that way.

“Not even at Christmas,” he said.

* * *

THE POUNDING ON THE locked door of her office sounded heavy enough to break the thick, tempered glass. Maria’s head jerked up from her computer screen to make sure the closed sign was still in place. Beyond it, her older sister peered in at her.

Maria sucked in a breath through her teeth, not ready to deal with anyone in her family and itching to get back to her work. She’d just run her brother’s social security number. Even though she hadn’t been able to find any activity on it since 2001, there was more she could do. Using Google to search for his name and variations of his name, for starters. Followed by a thorough social networking investigation. If Maria pretended not to notice her, maybe Annalise would go away.

The pounding got louder.

“Okay, okay, I’m coming.” She got up from her chair and crossed the office, deciding not to say anything to Annalise about Mike. Not until she had hard evidence that he was alive. She composed her features and unlocked the door.

Her sister pushed it open, barely giving Maria enough time to back away. A blast of chilled air followed Annalise inside, and she rubbed her bare hands together. She was dressed more for fashion than function, in the black leather jacket she’d gotten from her husband for her birthday a few weeks before.

“I was freezing to death out there.” Her teeth were chattering. “For a minute I thought you weren’t going to let me in.”

“I was caught up in something, is all.” Maria maneuvered past her and relocked the door.

“You’re ready to go, though, right?” she asked. “I thought we could hit the electronics store before we go to the mall. That way, you can get your presents for Alex and Billy out of the way.”

How could Maria have forgotten? Annalise had offered to help her pick out Christmas gifts for her teenage nephews. They’d also planned to search for presents for their parents, their brother Jack and his girlfriend, Tara, before ending the evening at Annalise’s favorite restaurant.

Maria glanced back at the computer. Caroline Webb had left only forty-five minutes ago, not nearly enough time to make headway on finding out whether Mike could be alive. “I’m sorry, Annalise. I can’t go, after all.”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” She waved her index finger. “You don’t get to back out after I went to the trouble of getting a babysitter and dressing up. I even put on makeup!”

Maria’s naturally pretty sister always looked nice. She’d gone the extra mile tonight, letting her brown hair down from its usual ponytail and pairing her leather jacket with black dress slacks and heels instead of jeans and sneakers.

“I’m sorry,” Maria said. “Something’s come up and I need to work.”

“This close to Christmas? You said you were taking some time off, like you always do over the holidays.”

Maria glanced at the computer again. It seemed to be beckoning to her. Once she finished her searches, regardless of what she found, she intended to make an airline reservation to Florida.

“Things have changed,” she said. “I have to go out of town for a few days.”

“What? We have tickets tomorrow night to The Nutcracker,” Annalise protested. “And you said you’d help me out the rest of the week at the Christmas tree sale.”

The yearly sale benefited her youngest son’s baseball league. Annalise was one of the organizers.

“You’ll have to find someone else to take my place,” Maria told her. “This is important.”

“Where are you going?” Annalise demanded. It would have been difficult to tell that Maria was the only one in the room with training in interrogation. Then again, the two sisters were close. They never kept secrets from each other.

“Key West,” Maria said.

“Florida? I don’t ever remember you going that far for a case before,” Annalise said. “You’ll be back in time for Christmas, right?”

She hesitated. “I don’t know.”

Her sister narrowed her eyes, propped her hands on her hips and demanded, “What’s going on?”

Maria’s instincts told her to remain mum. However, that wasn’t realistic. If Annalise was reacting this badly to her possible absence at Christmas, other family members would, too. Maria needed somebody to smooth the waters and support her alibi.

“You’d better sit down,” she said.

“I don’t want to sit down.”

“Then promise you won’t freak out.”

“You’re freaking me out by acting like this,” Annalise declared. “Just spit it out.”

Maria forced the words through her lips. “I think Mike might still be alive.”

Her sister shook her head. “No, he’s not. Why would you even say something like that?”

As succinctly as she could, Maria relayed the details of the visit from Caroline Webb. Annalise listened in silence, her expression giving nothing away even though she’d always been the most demonstrative of the four siblings.

“Say something,” Maria said when she’d finished.

“I’m thinking about how to phrase it.” Annalise scratched her head. “On second thought, to hell with tact. I’ll tell you how I really feel. I can’t believe you even let Caroline in the front door. Don’t you remember how she treated Mike?”

“Caroline’s not a high school kid anymore, Annalise,” Maria said. “She’s almost thirty years old.”

“Once a mean girl, always a mean girl,” her sister said heatedly. “Mike never would have dropped out of school if she hadn’t broken up with him in front of all their friends.”

One of the cafeteria workers had later provided their family with the details. Caroline had been cruel, saying she was sick of Mike and adding that he was worthless and stupid. She claimed she already had someone waiting in the wings to take her to the approaching homecoming dance.

Her words had hit the mark. Mike had rushed out of the school building and sped home, sideswiping a parked car on the way. Then he’d had another argument. With Maria.

Afterward, he’d packed a bag and split. Nobody had known where he was until Logan Collier called a few days later from New York City to say Mike was staying at his apartment.

“We don’t know that Mike wouldn’t have dropped out of school, Annalise,” Maria said. “His grades were so bad he barely made it through junior year. Remember how much trouble Mom and Dad had with him?”

“Most of that was because of Caroline,” Annalise said. “If I remember correctly, you thought so, too.”

Maria couldn’t dispute that. Over the years, however, she’d come to realize there were many factors in Mike’s disconnect from the family. That included Maria making it crystal clear she’d disapproved of his girlfriend.

“That’s water under the bridge,” she said. “The important thing now is to find out if Mike’s the one who’s been in contact with Caroline.”

“You said you were doing some online searches when I got here. You ran Mike’s social security number, right? Did anything come up?”

“Well, no,” Maria said. “But nothing would show up if he’s using an alias.”

“An alias?” her sister exclaimed. She shook her head and came forward, laying a hand on Maria’s arm. “Listen to me carefully, Maria. Mike’s dead. You know as well as I do that nobody in the restaurant survived that day.”

The hijacked plane had hit the North Tower a few stories below the Windows on the World complex. The official report was that all the restaurant customers and employees survived the initial attack, only to find the pathways that led below blocked by the impact zone. Everybody died, either of smoke inhalation or in the collapse of the building.

“Mike didn’t call any of us after the plane hit,” Maria said. “What if that was because he wasn’t there?”

“Oh, sweetie. Lots of other reasons make more sense. His phone might have been dead. Or maybe he was looking for a way out and couldn’t take the time to call.”

“His remains were never identified,” Maria reminded her.

“Neither were the remains of more than a thousand other people. That’s about forty percent of the victims,” Annalise said. “The authorities did the best they could, but it was an impossible task.”

“So we can’t completely rule out that Mike wasn’t at the restaurant that day,” Maria said.

“Yes, we can,” she insisted. “If he were alive, wouldn’t he have contacted us in the last eleven years to let us know?”

“I admit that part doesn’t make sense, but Mike was angry at the world when he left for New York. He wasn’t getting along with any of us.” Maria could tell that her arguments weren’t swaying her sister. She tried another tactic. “Don’t you want to know what I found out about the phone number?”

“Sure.” Annalise didn’t sound optimistic.

“The calls came from a prepaid phone, as if whoever made them doesn’t want to be found,” Maria said. “He must be in Key West, though. That’s where the envelope was postmarked.”

“I’ll admit the entire situation is strange,” Annalise said slowly, “but Mike didn’t make those calls or send those photos.”

“Then who did?” Maria asked. “It seems out of character for Mike to have given that nude photo of Caroline away.”

“C’mon, Maria. Someone else might be behind this.”

“Maybe,” she conceded, “but I think it’s worth looking into the possibility it might be Mike.”

Annalise held up a finger and got her cell phone out of her purse. She appeared to be scrolling through a list of numbers before she pushed one.

“Hey, this is Annalise,” she said after a moment and turned away, walking to the other end of the room so it was harder for Maria to hear her.

That was fine with Maria. She already guessed that her sister had Jack on the line. Their surviving brother had moved to Virginia’s Eastern Shore earlier in the year to be with his girlfriend. Maria suspected Annalise was trying to enlist Jack’s help in convincing her she was wasting her time. A part of her didn’t blame her sister for trying to protect her. If Maria raised her hopes too high and came up with nothing, it would be like losing Mike all over again. But if she found him...

She went back to the computer and entered her brother’s name in a search engine. She got quite a few hits, each one of which she’d need to check out. Figuring there was no point to delay in making her airline reservation, she called up another tab and went to a travel site.

“Promise me something.” Annalise suddenly stood beside her, looking over her shoulder at the computer screen. Maria hadn’t even realized her sister had gotten off the phone. “Promise me you won’t make that reservation until you talk to him.”

Annalise’s eyes looked tortured. She’d lost a brother, too, Maria reminded herself. All three of them had. If Annalise wanted her to talk to Jack before she started her investigation, it was the least she could do.

“I promise,” she said. “I won’t make the reservation until I talk to Jack.”

“Jack?” Annalise shook her head. “That wasn’t Jack on the phone. It was Logan Collier.”

CHAPTER TWO

LOGAN SPOTTED ANNALISE DiMarco the instant he entered the noisy Italian restaurant, which was decorated for the holidays with strung holly and tiny white lights.

He barely had time to breathe in the scents of spicy tomato sauce and baked bread before she sprang to her feet. After pausing to say something to her dining companion, a black-haired woman with her back to the door—who had to be Maria—rushed to his side.

“Hey, Annalise.” Logan leaned down to kiss her cheek. He’d barely connected when she grabbed his arm and dragged him off to the side of the hostess stand, nearer the exit and the coat rack.

“Hey, Logan,” she said conversationally, as though she hadn’t just hijacked him. “Thanks for coming.”

Annalise had the dark hair and light eyes common to the DiMarcos, except her hair was brown and her eyes green. The oldest sibling, she was also the only one with children. With Logan’s help, she and her husband had invested wisely enough that they should be able to fulfill their goal of paying for their two sons’ college educations.

“For a minute there I thought you were going to push me out the door.” He would have gone through it eagerly if Annalise had changed her mind about what she’d asked of him.

“Nothing like that,” she said. “I was getting you out of Maria’s field of vision. You know, in case she turns around to see if I really went to the restroom.”

He groaned. “I thought Maria knew that I was meeting both of you here.”

Annalise shook her head. “Not exactly. You know how I called and asked if you needed directions to the restaurant?”

“Yeah.” He’d thought that was odd considering Donatelli’s had occupied the same location for twenty years.

“I was supposed to tell you not to come. Maria practically ordered me.”

“Ordered you? That doesn’t sound good.”

“It’s not good,” she confessed. “Her exact words were something like, ‘No way in hell am I talking to him.’”

Logan winced. He should have anticipated that. The days were long gone when Maria would jump into his arms and kiss him whenever more than twenty-four hours went by without them seeing each other.

“Don’t let it bother you,” Annalise said. “Maria doesn’t want to talk to me about this, either. She hasn’t changed, you know. She’s still hardheaded when she makes up her mind about something.”

Logan cleared his throat, preparing to ask the question that had been uppermost in his mind since Annalise had phoned him. “Does she really believe Mike’s alive?”

His voice broke on Mike’s name. Logan hadn’t spoken the youngest DiMarco’s name aloud in years. He’d thought about him, though, especially when the anniversary of 9/11 rolled around. On those dates, Logan was consumed by memories of Mike DiMarco.

A teenage couple entered the restaurant hand in hand, their eyes locked on each other, the corners of their mouths lifted in smiles. It wasn’t only the girl’s long, straight black hair that reminded Logan of Maria. It was the way she looked at her boyfriend.

“She’s a private investigator,” Annalise said. “She has to know there could be another explanation. And the way she was talking, it sounds like she’s leaning that way.”

He nodded once, fully understanding why Annalise had phoned him. Mike DiMarco was dead. Period. Nothing but pain lay ahead for Maria if she let herself believe otherwise.

“Okay. I’ll do my best to convince her she’s on the wrong track.” He swept a hand to indicate Annalise should precede him into the dining room, where the young couple was following a hostess to a table. “Let’s get on with it.”

“Oh, I’m not going back in there.” Annalise walked past him to the coat rack and rummaged through a number of winter garments before pulling out a black leather one. “I left my jacket over here so I could sneak out.”

Everything inside Logan went still. “Maria won’t like that.”

“Maria hasn’t liked anything I’ve said to her for the past hour,” her sister said. “She wouldn’t have come to dinner if she hadn’t promised to treat me. If I stay, it’ll seem like we’re ganging up on her.”

“If you go,” Logan said slowly, “I won’t like it, either.”

“Thanks for coming to help out,” Annalise said, shrugging into her jacket, which looked too thin to keep her warm. She headed for the exit but turned before she reached it. “Almost forgot to tell you, I drove. Maria’s car is at her office. You can take her back, right? Thanks!”

She whirled and fled, leaving Logan to gather his courage for a conversation he should have had in the aftermath of the terrorist attack.

There was something about that day he’d never told anybody, something that had been eating at him ever since.

If the information would help Maria, it was time he got it off his chest, even if it made her dislike him more than she already did.

* * *

ANNALISE WAS TAKING AN awfully long time in the restroom. If Maria had insisted on them both driving, she could have jotted down an apology on a napkin and sneaked out.

She regretted coming to dinner at all. She itched to be at the computer, squaring away her flight, or on the phone working the case instead of listening to Annalise tell her not to go to Key West.

At least she’d gotten it through her sister’s thick skull that she had no intention of meeting with Logan Collier.

The text tone on her cell phone buzzed. She rummaged through her voluminous leather purse on her lap, annoyed at herself for not putting the phone in the zippered compartment. The text was from Annalise and consisted of one word: Sorry.

“Hello, Maria.”

Logan. She jerked her gaze from her sister’s apologetic text to the man she’d once loved with her whole heart. The breath left her, exactly as if she’d been punched in the stomach.

He wasn’t quite six feet tall yet seemed taller because of his excellent posture. He was nearly as lean as he’d been as a teenager but more muscular. His thick brown hair was shorter, although it still sprang back from his forehead and the strands at his nape still curled. Age lent his regular features character and added fine lines that bracketed the hazel eyes she’d always thought were so pretty.

Maria had to consciously tell herself to stop staring and start breathing again. “Hello, Logan.”

“Mind if I join you?” He nodded to the chair Annalise had vacated after their waitress had cleared away the dinner dishes. Despite the apologetic text, Maria didn’t want to believe her sister had cut out on her.

“Annalise is sitting there,” she said.

“Was sitting there,” he corrected. “She’s gone.”

“I can’t believe it.” Maria shook her head as it sank in that her sister had abandoned her. “I told her I didn’t want to talk to you.”

“For the record, I thought you knew I was coming.” He indicated the chair again. “So can I sit down? You might want to say yes, because I’m your ride.”

Maria’s pulse skittered. It was all her sister’s fault. Annalise was going to pay.

“By all means.” She worked on composing herself while he took off his black wool car coat. Underneath he wore a burgundy long-sleeved shirt that made him appear vibrant and engaging. He settled across from her.

Before either of them could say a word, their young blonde waitress arrived with two cups of coffee and two slices of chocolate cheesecake. Annalise had remarked earlier in the evening that the girl looked as if she was having a bad day. Not anymore. A smile stretched across her pretty face.

“Well, hello there,” she said to Logan. “You must have just arrived. I couldn’t have missed you.”

“You’re right. I just got here.” One corner of Logan’s mouth lifted in a way that used to make Maria melt when they were teenagers.

The half smile appeared to have the same effect on the waitress. It had been that way in the old days, too. Females found Logan attractive. Maria had always thought it was because he didn’t seem to realize exactly how good-looking he was.

“My sister left,” Maria announced to get the waitress’s attention. “We won’t be having dessert and coffee, after all.”

“Are you sure?” She tilted her head and chewed her bottom lip. “I’m not certain I can take them back. You did order them.”

“Then just leave everything on the table,” Logan said. “We’ll be here for a little while longer.”

“Great!” Her enthusiasm was out of proportion to the situation. “Hope you enjoy!”

“Didn’t mean to step on your toes there, but she doesn’t seem real experienced,” he said when the waitress was gone. “Besides, I can always go for a piece of cheesecake.”

He’d always had a sweet tooth. In high school, when they were dating, Maria used to make it a point to have home-baked chocolate chip cookies on hand when they studied together at her house.

“By all means, dig in,” she said.

He took a bite of cheesecake, and her eyes arrowed straight to his mouth. With lips that were slightly full for a man’s, he had a gorgeous one. She shifted in her seat, feeling decidedly uncomfortable. They hadn’t been alone since they’d broken up, senior year of high school. In all that time, she’d seen him only once, at her brother’s memorial service. If, that is, she didn’t count the time she’d spotted him at the mall and ducked into a children’s clothing store to avoid him.

“How long are you home for?” she asked.

“Just a few days.” He’d never had much of an accent—most people who lived in the Lexington area didn’t—but any trace of Kentucky in his speech was entirely gone. “My parents are leaving for a cruise on Wednesday and I’ve got to get back to work.”

Ah, work. It defined him. If not for his insistence on going out of state to the University of Michigan to get a master’s degree in business so he could make the almighty buck, they’d still be together.

She’d wanted him to stick closer to home—and to her—by pursuing his dream of becoming a painter at an art school in Louisville. They could have moved into an apartment together, with Maria getting a job that would have paid the rent.

He’d called her proposal too risky, refusing to consider art school and declaring that he needed to be financially secure before he’d live with anyone.

The fact that he hadn’t loved her enough to take a chance on them still stung.

“Are you at the same firm in New York?” She didn’t know why she asked when she already knew the answer. The financial giant had hired Logan right out of college, where he’d managed to get both his bachelor’s degree and MBA in four years. If he’d changed jobs, Annalise would have mentioned it. She and her husband still used Logan to manage their finances. Since the firm where he worked was such a powerhouse, Maria was sure Logan kept them on as a favor.

“The same one,” he answered.

“And still conscientious, I see.” Maria couldn’t hold back the rest of her thought. “You’re rushing to get back to work when most other people are going on holiday.”

His shoulders stiffened. “It’s a good job.”

“I’m happy for you, then.” She wanted to know if he was still painting, except that was another volatile topic of discussion. Better to leave it be.

“How are things with you?” he asked.

“Can’t complain.” She picked up her fork, then put it down. She’d barely been able to choke down dinner. She wouldn’t be able to eat the dessert Annalise had talked her into ordering. “I quit the police force four years ago to go into private investigation. I’m a one-woman show, but I like it that way.”

“I heard you got divorced,” he said.

She was probably imagining the edge to his voice. He hadn’t cared enough to hang on to her, so why would her ex-husband be a sensitive subject?

“That was a while back,” she said. Before she’d left the sheriff’s office but after she’d made the decision to quit. “We weren’t a good match.”

Logan nodded, saying nothing, and added two creams and two sugars to his coffee.

“How’s the family?” he asked before he took a swig.

She avoided looking at his mouth, determined not to get sidetracked. “Everybody’s good. You keep up with Annalise. My parents are still working, and Jack’s going back to school to work with developmentally disabled kids. I think he’ll be engaged soon.”

“Glad to hear it.” Logan licked a drop of coffee from his lower lip. He put down the cup and rested his wrists on the table. “Do they know you think Mike might still be alive?”

The conversation and background music that had created a constant hum since she’d arrived at Donatelli’s Restaurant seemed to fade. Her ears rang with the question. No way could she avoid the subject any longer.

“No,” she stated. “I thought it would be better not to say anything until I know something definite.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s pretty obvious. Losing Mike was hard enough the first time. I don’t want them to have to go through that pain again.”

“That’s why I agreed to talk to you when Annalise called.” Logan leaned forward slightly, pinning her with his gaze. “Mike’s dead, Maria.”

She dragged her eyes away from the certainty in his. “How much do you know about what’s going on?”

“I only know what Annalise told me,” he said.

“Then I’ll fill you in.” Once she shared the details, maybe both Logan and Annalise would leave her alone to conduct her investigation. She relayed the day’s events, omitting nothing.

He listened in silence with his arms crossed over his chest. When she was through talking, he released a harsh breath. “Someone’s playing a sick joke. But it’s not Mike.”

“How can you possibly be sure of that?” Maria snapped.

“I already told you,” Logan said. “Mike’s dead, Maria. He died on 9/11. You’ve got to accept that.”

“Did you personally witness him going inside the World Trade Tower that day?” she asked.

“No, but I talked to him that morning. He was up early because he was working the breakfast shift.”

She picked up a thin wooden stick and stirred her coffee, watching the circular pattern as she thought about what Logan had said. Finally, she looked up to find his hazel eyes trained on her.

“What if he didn’t go to work that day?” she asked, the idea gaining momentum. “Mike never could stick to anything. He quit a ton of summer jobs for one reason or another.”

“Okay, let’s go with that,” Logan said. “Then why didn’t he come back to my apartment and get his things? Why didn’t he let anybody know he was alive?”

Very good questions, Maria thought. “That’s what I’m going to find out.”

“Listen to yourself,” Logan argued. “You sound like you’ve already convinced yourself he’s alive.”

“I’m a private investigator,” she said. “I know enough not to jump to conclusions before I have proof.”

“You’ll never find proof, Maria. I know you want to believe Mike’s out there somewhere. Hell, I’d like to believe it, too. But he died that day.” Logan ran a hand over his mouth, a gesture that used to mean he was upset. His brows drew together. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

She was almost afraid to hear it. This time she was the one who crossed her arms over her chest. “What?”

He pursed his lips and blew a breath out through his nose. “You know I was the one who got Mike the job at Windows on the World?”

Maria nodded. Logan had also given her brother a place to stay in Manhattan. At first she had been angry about that. She’d told her parents that Mike might have come home if Logan hadn’t let him sleep on his sofa. Her folks had countered that Mike might just as likely have lived on the streets.

“He didn’t much like being a busboy,” Logan said. “The morning the towers fell, he talked about quitting.”

“I knew it!” Maria cried.

“Hold on.” Logan put up a hand. “I hadn’t charged him anything up to that point. I told him he needed to help with rent.”

“So he was going to quit,” Maria said, her mind spinning. This revelation made it more likely that Mike was alive.

“You’re not hearing me,” Logan said. “He couldn’t help with the rent if he was unemployed. I told him he needed to keep the busboy job until he found another one. I talked him into going to work that day.”

“You don’t know that,” Maria retorted. “Mike was bullheaded. If he wanted to quit, he would have.”

“I don’t think so,” Logan said. “Even if that’s true, he would have gone in to work and given notice.”

“Not if he phoned,” Maria said. Something else occurred to her. “Maybe he didn’t feel any loyalty to the people there. Maybe he just didn’t show up.”

Logan shook his head. “You’re grasping at straws. No way would Mike let your family believe he was dead.”

“He dropped out of high school and ran away from home, Logan,” she said. “He was on the outs with us.”

“He wasn’t a vindictive kid,” Logan said.

“He was a rebellious one,” Maria countered. “My parents caught him drinking or skipping school or staying out all night lots of times. He wanted to do his own thing without getting hassled.”

“It’s one thing to be rebellious,” Logan said. “It’s another to let your family go through the heartache of believing you’re dead.”

Logan probably thought he sounded like the voice of reason. It wouldn’t do any good to tell him she couldn’t rest until she’d eliminated any chance that Mike was alive. Logan was just as closed-minded as always. If he’d been able to open his mind to possibilities, they’d be married right now.

“I hadn’t looked at it from that perspective.” She pretended to look thoughtful. She had to wrench the next words from her mouth. “Perhaps you’re right.”

His mouth dropped open. He closed it and let out a heavy breath. “Believe me, that doesn’t bring me any happiness.”

She nodded.

“What are you going to do now?” he asked.

“What do you think I should do?”

“You should drop it,” he said. “It’s a cruel trick that isn’t worth your time.”

Maria tried to look pensive. “You’re probably right.”

“So you’re not going to Key West?”

“What would be the point?” She put her credit card inside the leather billfold the waitress had dropped by their table, and rose. “Would you excuse me for a minute?”

He hesitated only a moment before answering. “Sure.”

On the way to the restroom, Maria stopped at the hostess stand and placed a request. Within minutes, she rejoined Logan. Her credit card was on the table, but nothing else.

“Didn’t the waitress bring me a receipt?” she asked.

Logan said, “I switched out our credit cards and went ahead and paid the bill.”

“Nobody asked you to do that,” she said.

“I wanted to.”

Because he was flaunting what a success he’d made of himself? Even as the thought came into her head, she knew it wasn’t true. Logan had always been generous with what he had, even when he was a broke high school kid.

“Thank you,” she managed to say. “We should go. You won’t be in town long. I don’t want to keep you from your family.”

“My parents like you,” Logan said. “They won’t mind waiting while I drive you back to your office.”

“They won’t have to wait,” Maria said on the way to the coat rack. He helped her on with her coat, brushing against her in the process. A shiver ran the length of her body.

“Oh?” he said. “Why’s that?”

She pointed through the glass doors to where a taxi idled at the curb. “I had the hostess call a cab.”

He looked wounded. “I would have driven you.”

“I know,” she said. “Have a nice Christmas, Logan.”

“You, too,” he said.

She pushed open the doors and hurried to the cab, forcing herself not to turn around for a final glance at him. When she closed the taxi door behind her, she felt as though she were shutting out a past that included Logan. Once upon a time, she never could have fooled him with that guileless act. The fact that she had done so proved they’d become strangers.

She choked back a sob. Now was not the time to let herself get teary over the way she and Logan used to be. She needed to concentrate on finding out whether or not her brother was alive.

* * *

EARLY THE NEXT AFTERNOON Maria drove over the Seven Mile Bridge that led to the Lower Keys. Her flight had landed in Miami almost three hours earlier. Flying into the major city had saved her hundreds in plane fare. Even with the cost of the rental car, she was still ahead of the game had she flown into Key West.

She’d expected the hundred-and-fifty-five-mile drive to go more quickly. How was she to know that the scenic route through the Florida Keys would be a two-lane road, with cars clogging traffic whenever they entered or left the highway?

If not for occasional holiday decorations on shops and houses, it wouldn’t seem a bit like Christmas. Long stretches of the Overseas Highway were flanked by shimmering blue water on both sides, sometimes dotted with sprawling areas of emerald-green. When she’d stopped for gas, the cashier had told her the green patches marked sea grass beds and shallow reefs.

The Seven Mile Bridge, which spanned a channel linking the Atlantic Ocean and the Gulf of Mexico, was the most beautiful part of the drive yet. Seabirds soared through the clear sky, boats traversed the water and people fished from an old bridge, parallel to the new one, that was missing a piece in the middle.

Lexington and Logan Collier seemed very far away.

Maria was still irked at Annalise for calling Logan. It was crazy, but the old hurts had resurfaced as she’d sat across from him in the restaurant. Never mind that she’d been married and divorced since she’d been with Logan. She still felt like that girl who’d bared her heart and been rejected.

She’d almost convinced herself it would be okay not to inform Annalise that she was going to Key West. Almost, but not quite. After 9/11, the entire DiMarco family, Maria included, kept close tabs on each other.

She’d taken the coward’s way out, though, sending a text instead of phoning. Predictably, Annalise had responded by calling her cell. Maria hadn’t answered. She had more important uses for her mental energy than arguing with her sister.

She was already operating on a lack of sleep. Last night when she’d gotten home from the restaurant, she’d spent hours on the computer. She hadn’t been able to locate the right Mike DiMarco on any social network sites or find mention of him or Key West on the pages of his high school friends.

Every classmate she’d tried had a Facebook page except Billy Tillman, who’d been tight with Mike since grade school. She’d called Billy’s mother in an attempt to track him down. As Maria left the bridge for one of the string of islands that made up the Keys, she mentally replayed part of the conversation she’d had with Julia Tillman.

“Key West?” the woman had exclaimed. “Why would Billy be in Key West?”

“That’s what I’m asking you, Mrs. Tillman,” Maria said. “Has Billy ever talked about Key West?”

“I already told you. Billy’s in San Francisco. He moved there a few years ago.”

“Did he ever mention if any of his friends lived in Key West or vacationed there?” Maria asked.

“No. Never,” she said. “Who did you say you were again?”

“Mike DiMarco’s sister.”

“Mike? The poor boy who died on 9/11? That Mike?”

Maria had to stop herself from telling the older woman reports of her brother’s death may have been exaggerated. “That Mike.”

“Such a tragedy, that was. My Billy was torn up about it.”

“We all were, Mrs. Tillman,” Maria said and asked for her son’s cell phone number. Mrs. Tillman didn’t have it handy. Once she promised she’d have Billy call, Maria rang off before Mrs. Tillman could ask any more questions.

Maria didn’t want to explain about the phone call and photos Caroline Webb had received. She couldn’t listen to anyone else telling her how unlikely it was that her brother was behind them.

If even the ghost of a chance existed that Mike was alive, she needed to investigate. Admittedly, an envelope with a Key West postmark wasn’t a lot to go on. But until Maria scoured every inch of Key West and determined that her brother wasn’t on the island, she wasn’t ready to concede anything.

The task didn’t seem terribly daunting. The island was roughly four miles long and two miles wide, with hotels, shops and restaurants packed close together. She should be able to cover a lot of territory in a short amount of time.

Her first inkling that finding someone on the small island might not be that easy came thirty minutes later. She’d booked a hotel on the far side of the island. The traffic en route was bumper to bumper.

A pale pink, two-story building with a circular entranceway flanked by tall palm trees caught her eye while she waited behind a line of cars at a red light. The police station. An excellent place to start her search.

She pulled into the parking lot and minutes later walked into the empty reception area. A burly middle-aged officer with a full head of white hair manned the counter. His name tag read Sergeant Pepper. She did a double take. No, it was Sergeant Peppler. He gazed at her expectantly, a bored expression on his face.

“My name’s Maria DiMarco,” she announced. “Is there somebody I can talk to about a missing person?”

The sergeant perked up. “You can talk to me.”

Maria knew how the police worked. He wouldn’t hook her up with a detective unless he thought her story had merit. It wouldn’t hurt to get him on her side.

“I used to be on the force, too,” she said. “In Kentucky. The Fayette County Sheriff’s Department.”

“Oh, yeah?” He stroked a beard as white as his hair. With his coloring, he could probably get a second job masquerading as Santa. “What do you do now?”

It figured he would focus on the wrong part of her revelation. “I’m a private investigator.”

Sergeant Peppler snorted. In Maria’s experience, only about fifty percent of the cops she ran across had a full appreciation of the profession she’d chosen. The other half acted as though P.I.s existed to interfere with police investigations.

“So this missing person,” Peppler said, eyes narrowed, “it’s for a case you’re working?”

“Not exactly.” She reached into her purse, dug out a computer-generated age progression of her brother and set it on the counter. She’d gotten the image off a generic website that instantly aged people in uploaded photos. “I’m looking for my brother.”

The cop raised an eyebrow. “This is an age progression. How long has he been missing?”

She’d rather not tell him but couldn’t avoid his direct question. “Eleven years.” She fired the next questions. “Does he look familiar? Have you seen him?”

“No.” Peppler shoved the paper back at her. “Sorry. Can’t help you.”

“That’s it? You don’t want to know why I think my brother is in Key West?”

“Lady, I’m sure you’re aware of how police departments operate,” he said. “It’s the start of the high season for us. That means crowds and lots and lots of tourists. We don’t have the resources to devote to someone who’s been missing for eleven years.”

“Could you at least see if he’s in your database? I think he might have lived here for a while.” Maria had nothing concrete to back up that theory. It stood to reason, though, that Key West’s remote location made it a good place if you wanted to fly under the radar.

The tired look came back into Peppler’s eyes. His mouth was set, as though he was about to refuse. Then he shrugged his broad shoulders. “If it’ll get you out of here, sure. What’s his name?”

“Mike DiMarco.” She spelled out the last name and provided her brother’s date of birth and social security number. Even though she’d already run Mike’s particulars through some national databases, she couldn’t trust that the information was one hundred percent accurate. To be thorough, it didn’t hurt to check local channels.

The sergeant held up a finger, went to a nearby computer and typed in the information. While he was busy, a woman with a black eye came into the station and got in line behind Maria. A minute later, Peppler was back at the counter.

“I’ll be with you in a minute,” he told the woman. To Maria, he said, “Nope. Nothing on anybody named DiMarco.”

Just as she had suspected. She’d all but established that he’d have to be using an assumed identity. “He could be going by another name.”

“What name?”

She chewed her bottom lip. “I’m not sure.”

“Okay, I’ll bite.” Peppler rested both forearms on the counter. “Why do you think your brother is in Key West under an alias?”

She knew better than to tell him everything. “Mike’s ex-girlfriend got an envelope of photos that appeared to be from him. It had a Key West postmark.”

“Appeared to be?” Peppler picked up on the operative words.

“I misspoke,” Maria said, annoyed at herself for planting the seed of doubt in Peppler’s mind. If Mike was in Key West, she’d never find him if she didn’t put a positive spin on things. “The photos were from Mike.”

The woman behind her made an interested noise, not bothering to hide the fact that she was eavesdropping.

A crease appeared between the sergeant’s white eyebrows. “Just because he mailed the photos from Key West doesn’t mean he’s in Key West.”

Maria couldn’t argue with that conclusion. She’d arrived at the same one a short time ago.

“I’m exploring the possibility,” she said. “Perhaps you could direct me to somebody local who knows everybody.”

“You’re looking at him,” he said. “I’ve lived in Key West all my life and been a cop for twenty-five years. You’ll be wasting your time talking to other locals.”

“I’m a native, too, and I’ve never seen him before.” The comment came from the lady behind Maria, who was peering over her shoulder.

“He could be a tourist.” The sergeant tapped the photo. “Problem is your brother might not look like this. He might have gained weight. He could have a beard. Or long hair. Hell, maybe he even shaved his head.”

Earlier in the year Maria had worked on a child abduction case in which an age progression played a key part. Thirty years after the kidnapping, the victim bore a remarkable resemblance to the aged image.

“Or maybe Mike looks just like this.” She didn’t see any point in prolonging her stay at the police station. Sergeant Peppler wasn’t going to provide any information that would help her. She got out a business card and set it on the counter next to the age progression. “Could you keep this and show it around to the other officers? If anyone recognizes him, I’d appreciate a call.”

“Don’t expect one,” the officer said. “People come and go in Key West. Even if that age progression is the spitting image of your brother, he might not look familiar to anybody.”

Maria left the police station, spotted a branch of the Key West post office and swung in. She didn’t have any better luck there. After checking into a slightly run-down hotel that had appeared a lot nicer on its website, she pounded the pavement in the tourist district, flashing a copy of the age progression at anyone who agreed to take a look. By the time she got back to her hotel at midnight, she was fighting frustration.

Unbidden, Logan’s voice filled her head.

“Mike’s dead, Maria. He died on 9/11. You’ve got to accept that.”

She’d accepted a lot of disappointment in her life, including Logan’s refusal to take a chance on her when they were both eighteen. She’d be damned if she’d accept this.

CHAPTER THREE

THE LOUISVILLE INTERNATIONAL Airport buzzed with activity. Travelers walked quickly along the moving walkway that connected the two concourses, some arriving, others departing, all of them in a hurry. It seemed as if Christmas was hours instead of six days away. A tinny voice over the loudspeaker issued a periodic reminder not to leave bags unattended.

Logan and his parents had gone through the security checkpoint together, since he’d thought to book early morning flights that departed within thirty minutes of each other. The planes didn’t leave from the same concourse, though. When the walkway ended, Logan moved off to the side to get out of the way of other passengers. His parents did the same.

“This is where we part,” Logan said. “I hope you both have a fantastic time on the cruise.”

His mother sniffed, her eyes dewy with unshed tears. In her red coat, black pants and black shoe boots, she was dressed for winter in Lexington instead of in the tropics. “I still wish you were coming with us.”

“Boy’s gotta work, Celeste.” His father slung an arm around her and kissed the side of her head. He was gruff with most people but treated his wife like gold. “Guy I work with, his thirty-five-year-old son lives in the basement.”

“Logan’s only thirty-three,” his mother countered. “And I never said I wanted him to live in our basement.”

“Basements aren’t for me, anyway,” Logan said, attempting to lighten the mood. “We New York types prefer lofts.”

“But you’re not a New York type,” his mother protested. “Not really. You love Kentucky. You’ve always loved it. Don’t you think it’s past time you moved home?”

“Celeste, I thought you weren’t going to bring this up,” his father said.

“I can’t help it,” she answered. “You tell me not to make waves about it when Logan’s home because he’s here for such a short time. But it’s not the kind of thing to discuss over the phone.”

“Whoa,” Logan said. “Where’s this coming from? I’m happy in New York.”

“You wouldn’t have moved there in the first place if Maria DiMarco hadn’t married someone else,” his mother said.

Logan sucked in a breath that felt jagged going down. His mother was right. When he was in college, he’d fully expected he and Maria would get back together again someday. Finding out she’d gotten married had come as a vicious blow. In that instant, he’d decided to look for a job outside Kentucky.

His father removed his arm from his mother’s shoulder and gazed at her with rare disapproval. “Celeste, what are you doing?”

“Saying what I should have said a long time ago.” She took Logan’s elbow. “I think it’s time you and Maria put the past behind you.”

“You’re way off base about this, Mom,” Logan said. “My living in New York has nothing to do with her.”

It had nothing to do with Maria now, a voice in his head clarified. When he’d graduated from college, the state hadn’t been big enough for him to risk running into her and her new husband.

“If you’d seen her when you were home, you could have wiped the slate clean,” his mother said. “You’d either have feelings for her or you wouldn’t.”

Last night Logan had told his parents he was meeting friends for a drink. Now he was glad he hadn’t mentioned Maria by name. He wasn’t up for a postmortem session discussing his feelings.

“Maria and I were over a long time ago, Mom,” Logan insisted.

Then why did he feel as if he was abandoning her? It was ridiculous, considering that in the past Maria had been the one who’d failed to wait for him.

“But—”

“Wish our son a merry Christmas, Celeste,” his father interrupted. “You don’t want him to stop visiting us, do you?”

“Of course not.” She came forward and hugged him tightly, smelling of the familiar light perfume he associated with his childhood. She whispered in his ear, “Forgive a meddling mother for wanting to see her only child happy.”

He hugged her back. “You’re forgiven.”

Then his father was grabbing his hand and pulling him into a hearty hug. He ushered Mom toward the concourse, yet she looked back at Logan three times.

Logan waved, both sad and relieved that it was time for them to part ways. Sad... He wondered why that word had popped into his head. And why had the sentence snagged in his throat when he went to tell his mother he was happy?

An image of Maria’s face floated in his mind. He shut it out, irked at how potent the power of suggestion could be. He wouldn’t dwell on how things might have been. He liked his life in New York just fine, thank you very much.

He started walking toward the opposite concourse from his parents, again moving with the crowd. Though wreaths hung on the walls and Christmas music spilled out of restaurants, he’d seldom felt less holiday spirit.

Logan was halfway to his gate when his cell phone rang. It was Annalise DiMarco. He quickly rolled his carry-on suitcase over to the side, stopped and clicked through to the call.

“Annalise, what’s up?” he asked.

“I can barely hear you. Where are you?” Annalise hardly took a breath. “Oh, my gosh, you’re already at the airport, aren’t you?”

“That doesn’t matter,” he said. “Just tell me why you called.”

“Okay, but you won’t believe it. Maria’s in Key West. She’s been there since yesterday.”

“Ah, hell.” He’d had an inkling that telling her about his conversation with Mike on the morning of his death had backfired. Maria had heard only that her brother was thinking about quitting his job. “I’m sorry, Annalise. She told me she wasn’t going.”

“It’s not your fault, Logan. She told me the same thing. She didn’t want us to know.”

“What can I do?”

“Nothing,” Annalise said. “I almost didn’t call to tell you, but I hadn’t thanked you yet.”

“For nothing.”

“For trying,” she insisted.

Had he tried hard enough? Logan wondered after disconnecting the call. He remembered as clearly as though it were yesterday how he’d persuaded Mike to go to work on that fateful morning.

“I can’t let you stay here and freeload off me,” Logan had said. “You’ve got to work.”

“I know it,” Mike had answered. “But I hate being a busboy.”

“Then quit after you find another job,” Logan had told him. “In the meantime, though, there are a lot of things worse than working at the World Trade Center.”

Not on 9/11, there hadn’t been.

Logan felt sick to his stomach. It was bad enough carrying around the guilt that he was responsible for Mike being at the restaurant that day. Seeing the false hope in Maria’s eyes had been worse.

He couldn’t rewind time and take back what he’d said to Mike. He could, however, do something about Maria.

He headed for his gate and got in line at the counter.

“How may I help you?” an airline representative asked when he reached the front of the line.

Logan slapped his boarding pass down on the counter. “I need to make a change. Do you fly to Key West?”

* * *

MARIA WOKE UP WEDNESDAY morning thinking about Logan Collier. She turned over on the lumpy mattress, half expecting him to be on the other side of the bed, his chest bare, his face soft in sleep.

He wasn’t there.

She sat up, pushing the hair back from her face. Images from her dreams bombarded her consciousness. Of Logan kissing her, stripping off her clothes, making love to her. Of Mike bounding down the stairs, bursting into the basement and covering his eyes with a hand. “Whoa. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

She groaned aloud. Part of her dream was actually a memory. Mike had been a fan of Logan’s, treating him like another big brother. On one memorable occasion, he’d come to the basement to say hello to Logan and had barged in on them necking.

That was all she and Logan had been doing. They’d never gone all the way. Annalise had gotten pregnant when she was a senior in high school, then married quickly. Even though things had worked out great for her sister, Maria had been determined not to repeat that mistake. She’d wanted to wait, and Logan had respected her wishes. If she was having erotic dreams about him, seeing him again must have affected her on a deeper level than she’d imagined.

Maria hugged herself and rubbed her upper arms. She’d been right to get rid of Logan by telling him what he wanted to hear. Her entire focus needed to be on Mike.

Although it was almost nine and she hadn’t bothered pulling down the blinds, no sunlight poured into the room. The only window faced a brick wall, which helped explain the relatively low price for a night’s stay. Since she wasn’t getting paid and didn’t know how long the search would take, cost had to be a consideration. She padded to the bathroom over thin carpet and splashed cold water on her face to dispel the cobwebs.

By the time she’d showered and dressed, she was thinking more clearly. She’d been so eager to show around the aged photo of her brother when she got to Key West that she hadn’t done all the groundwork she could have.

It seemed a fair bet that Mike wasn’t using his birth name, but there were other steps she needed to take before she was certain. Examining the Monroe County property records. Checking listings at the local Clerk of Courts office. Accessing the state of Florida’s criminal database.

Maria pulled out her laptop from her bag, called the front desk for the hotel’s wireless access code and tried to log on. After three attempts, she finally connected.

The wireless signal flickered in and out, making what should have taken twenty minutes stretch into two hours. Predictably, she turned up nothing. No property records. No addresses. No vehicles registered to him. No tax liens. The trail simply stopped dead. If Mike were alive, she was even more sure he wasn’t using his real name.

The tone on her cell phone signaled she had a text. It was from Annalise. Again.

Worried about you, it read. When will you call?

Not yet, Maria texted back.

She couldn’t call until she had information that would convince her sister she wasn’t spinning her wheels. Her next step was to visit the Old Town post office, although that was admittedly a long shot. The employees at the branch she’d already checked had been no help.

After that, Maria needed a better strategy. The desk sergeant could be right about Mike not being a local, but she couldn’t ignore the possibility. There were undoubtedly people in town besides Sergeant Peppler who had a finger on the pulse of the real Key West.

She sat up straighter, the name of a Key West P.I. popping into her head: Carl Dexter. Key Carl, everybody called him. A large bearded man in his sixties who came to the workshops at the national P.I. conferences dressed in guayabera shirts, shorts and sandals.

With Key Carl’s help, she had no doubt she could come up with that better strategy.

* * *

INSIDE THE OFFICES OF Dexter Private Investigations later that morning, Kayla Fryburger stood back and admired the beaded white snowflakes she’d strung from monofilament thread in her uncle’s office. The dozen or so snowflakes looked elegant, although making them had been a simple matter of adding beads to corsage pins, poking the pins into cork and applying white glitter.

Uncle Carl had nixed her Christmas tree idea so the snowflakes would have to do. Kayla only hoped someone besides herself saw them.

Since Uncle Carl had left with his girlfriend earlier in the week to visit her family in Chicago, nobody had stopped by the office. That was partially due to Uncle Carl spreading the word that he was out of town until after Christmas. Still, a girl could hope for walk-in traffic.

Dexter Investigation’s normal office hours were 9:00 a.m. to noon. Even though Uncle Carl had suggested she take some time off this week, Kayla had shown up each day just in case somebody stopped in.

Granted, she wasn’t a skilled investigator, but she could make up for in enthusiasm what she lacked in experience.

The past six weeks had been some of the most exciting of her life. Considering her previous line of work had been producing and selling bottle art with her mother, that wasn’t saying much.

Kayla had come up with the idea of learning the ropes from her uncle a couple years ago. After much resistance, he’d finally agreed to an eight-week trial, providing she worked for a pittance.

She’d messed up a few times, including on surveillance duty when it didn’t occur to her the subject might leave his house via a back window. She was getting better, though.

If a client would walk through the door, she’d get a chance to prove it. Kayla stared at the entrance, willing somebody in need of help to materialize.

Five minutes later, she sank into the orange-and-teal-striped sofa in the waiting area, wondering how to fill the time. In previous days, she’d tidied up the magazines on the coffee table, fluffed the pillows and swept the floor. All that was left to do was clean the baseboards.

Minutes later, with a wet paper towel in hand, she gazed down at the short yellow skirt she’d paired with a white top. Not the best outfit for baseboard cleaning. She balanced on her haunches but almost toppled over on her wedged-heel sandals.

“Forget that.” She got down on her knees and went to work.

The swooshing noise was so unexpected it took her a moment to realize the door had swung open. Kayla got to her feet with as much dignity as she could muster and turned to greet the arrival.

Alex Suarez. She fought not to sway. It was Alex Suarez, the object of her unrequited crush. A charming smile split his tan, handsome face. He was wearing sunglasses with silver frames and black lenses. He slid them off slowly and she noticed one of the lenses had a slight scratch. No surprise. She noticed everything about him and had for years.

“Well, hello,” he said.

She smoothed her skirt the best she could, terribly afraid the first thing he’d seen upon entering the office was her yellow rear end. This was why people didn’t take her seriously. Such things were always happening to her.

“Welcome to Dexter Private Investigations.” Her voice cracked on the name. “How can I help you?”

He walked deeper into the office, the smile still present. With his thick dark hair, high forehead and angular cheekbones, he looked almost exotic. She’d heard his given first name was Alejandro but that he’d started calling himself Alex after he emigrated from Cuba with his parents when he was a child. The name had stuck. An accent hadn’t. He sounded quintessentially American.

He studied her. “I know you from somewhere.”

She would have been flattered if she hadn’t been stopping by his restaurant regularly for nearly a year. The Daybreak Café operated from 7:00 a.m. to 2:00 p.m. daily, serving both American and Cuban specialties for breakfast and lunch.

“I’m a fan of the Cuban sandwiches at your restaurant,” she said. “I get one for takeout a few times a month.”

He snapped his fingers. “That must be it. I didn’t know they let you leave school for lunch, though.”

“Excuse me?”

“You go to Key West High, right?” he asked.

He thought she was in high school? She felt her face flame. “I graduated from there a long time ago. I’m twenty-five.”

“Really?” His eyes widened. They were such a dark brown they were almost black. “I never would have guessed it.”

She stood up to her full height of five feet two, taller if you took into account the heels of her chunky sandals. “I look younger.”

“You look great,” he said, his smile widening.

She hoped she wasn’t blushing. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-five.”

“Well, then, you look younger, too,” she said. “I wouldn’t have guessed any older than twenty-nine.”

He laughed. “I’m Alex Suarez, by the way.”

As if she didn’t know.

“Kayla Fryburger.” She waited for him to make a crack about her name. Almost everybody did.

“Okay, Kayla,” he said, “now that we’ve established you’re out of high school—”

“Years out of high school,” she interrupted.

“Many, many years out of high school,” he said with the smile still in place. “That must mean you’re not just helping out over the holidays?”

“I work here,” she verified. “I’m Unc— I mean, Mr. Dexter’s assistant.”

“Is that right?” He nodded. In light-colored slacks and an off-white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, he appeared cool and confident. If he bottled some of that confidence and sold it, she’d be first in line.

“It is.” She tried to remember what Uncle Carl said to potential clients. “Tell me what brings you here today.”

“I’d like to tell both you and Carl,” Alex said. “He’s a friend of mine. Is he around?”

It figured Alex knew her uncle. The local business community wasn’t terribly extensive. But apparently Key West was big enough that the man she’d been swooning over for years hadn’t noticed her. “No, I’m sorry. He’s in Chicago until December 27.”

Alex grimaced and sucked in a breath. “That’s not good news. I need to hire somebody today.”

Kayla’s heartbeat sped up. “You can hire me.”

He looked dubious. “I thought you assisted.”

“That’s right.” Assisting was all she’d ever done. “But I can do more than assist. I can take on a case. That’s why I’m here in the office. I’m ready and willful. Uh, I meant ready and willing.”

She shut up. She sounded like a total amateur, which she was. It would be best if he didn’t know that, though.

Alex scratched his smoothly shaved jaw. “Perhaps I should tell you why I’m here and we can go from there.”

“Sounds good.” She tried to contain the excitement coursing through her. “Go ahead.”

“Can we sit down?” he asked.

“Sure. Come this way.” She led him to her uncle’s office and got behind the big desk. Uncle Carl was a large man, more than a foot taller than she was. The desk seemed to swallow her so that she felt like a little girl playing house.

To compensate, she said in her most professional voice, “Please proceed.”

“Have you seen this?” He was holding a rolled-up newspaper, which he unfolded and handed to her.

It was a copy of the Key West Sun. The headline above the fold read “Baring It All.” The story was about a councilman proposing a referendum to allow nude sunbathing along a narrow strip of beach, a move championed by naturists who embraced the anything-goes Key West culture.

“I have seen it and I’m for it.” Kayla grimaced as it occurred to her how he could misconstrue her support. “Not that I would sunbathe naked. I mean, I would if nobody was around. It’s not like I’m a prude or anything. Although I’m not an exhibitionist. Not that I’m saying these people are.”

She had to press her lips together to stop her stream of words. Why couldn’t she stop talking?

“Not that story.” He leaned across the desk and pointed to a photo below the fold. “That.”

She’d seen the life-size fiberglass Santa that was pictured at the intersection of Duval Street and U.S. 1. He held a fistful of money in one hand. In his other was a sign that said “’Tis the Season to Spend in Key West.” Someone had painted the statue’s face white and added black rings around its eyes and red streaks trickling from its mouth. “Zombie Santa,” the caption read.

Kayla giggled, covering her mouth to stop it from becoming an unladylike guffaw.

“That reaction is exactly why I’m here,” Alex said. “As a representative of the Key West Merchants Association, I’m authorized to hire a private investigator to save our group from further embarrassment. So far a prankster has dressed Santa like the Grinch and now a zombie.”

“Somebody has a sense of humor,” she said.

“The Merchants Association doesn’t think it’s funny,” he said. “They’re taking this very seriously.”

“Then why not just retire the statue?” Kayla asked.

“That was my suggestion,” Alex said. “But it’s not the way these things work. The group paid a local artist a pretty penny to create that statue. Santa has a lot of fans.”

“But it’s so...” Kayla’s voice trailed off for fear of insulting him.

“Crass?” he supplied.

That was exactly what Kayla had been about to say. By emphasizing materialism, the statue focused on the wrong side of the holiday.

“Don’t worry about offending me,” he said. “I spoke out against the statue from the beginning. Nothing would make me happier than to get it off the street.”

“Then why are you in charge of hiring a private investigator?” she asked.

“Just because I was against the Santa doesn’t mean I want to see our group embarrassed,” he said. “We need to find out who’s doing this. Or at the very least, make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Then you came to the right place.” Kayla injected confidence into her voice even though she was already wondering how a one-woman operation would manage twenty-four-hour surveillance on the statue. “Let me tell you our rates.”

She had to go to her uncle’s file and rummage through a sheaf of papers before finding a listing of costs. The hourly rate seemed high to her. Alex didn’t blink.

“That intersection with the Santa is a pretty high-traffic area,” she said, referring more to the cars that passed by the spot than the pedestrians. “You said Santa’s already been messed with twice. It seems likely somebody saw the prankster in action.”

“I’m sure that’s something you’ll look into.”

She planned to do exactly that. She just wasn’t sure how to go about it.

“It’s settled, then.” Alex stood up and reached across the desk, offering his hand.

Kayla took it, the warmth of his grip seeming to travel through every inch of her body. She almost cried out in protest when he let go of her hand.

“Here are my numbers.” He took a business card out of his wallet and laid it on the desk. “I’d like to be updated daily and whenever there’s a new development.”

“Certainly.” She hoped she sounded sufficiently professional.

“I’ll look forward to hearing from you.” He strode toward the exit, pausing to turn around before he reached it. The grin that made him even more handsome was back on his face. “I forgot to tell you. Nice skirt. Yellow never looked so good.”

With that, he left. Kayla brought her hands to her hot cheeks, not sure what disconcerted her more: Alex Suarez or the prospect of conducting a solo investigation.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE PRICKLY SENSATION on the back of Maria’s neck started before she’d gotten halfway to her destination.

During her years in law enforcement, she’d learned to trust her intuition. It had served her well on occasions too numerous to count. Such as the time she was chasing a suspect and ducked into an alley just before he turned on her and fired.

Now her sixth sense was telling her someone was following her.

She’d decided to visit the post office before appealing to Key Carl for help. The directions she’d gotten off the internet took her west on Duval Street, a tourist-heavy thoroughfare that cut a swath through the heart of Key West. The farther west she walked, the more numerous the bars, specialty shops, restaurants and pedestrians became. Trolley cars shared space on the road with bicycles, cars and mopeds.

It seemed as if anything was accepted here. She passed a statue of Santa Claus holding a fistful of cash, with the message to spend it in Key West, and a man dressed in the same shade of green as the feathers on the large talking parrot on his shoulder. A woman whose arms and legs were completely covered in colorful tattoos rode by on a scooter. A belly dancer who had a lot to jiggle performed for tips on a street corner.

Yet Maria could still sense that someone was on her tail.

Had word trickled back to Mike that she was looking for him? She’d left her business card with probably two dozen people last night. She’d mentioned the name of the hotel where she was staying to more than a few of them.

Her heartbeat sped up. If Mike had been the one who’d contacted Caroline, he could be thinking about surfacing. He might even be following her right now. This could be her opportunity to solve the mystery of his disappearance once and for all.

She spied an art gallery with paintings displayed in the window. She stopped, pretending to admire them. The sun wasn’t yet directly overhead, perfect for her purposes. She repositioned her body and angled her head this way and that, as though examining a painting.

The sun reflected off the window, allowing Maria to see the other side of the street.

A familiar man was stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, hanging back but not making nearly enough of an effort to conceal himself.

Not Mike. Logan Collier.

She whirled and marched across the street, directly into the path of one of the mopeds that clogged the artery. The driver, a teenage boy, swerved to avoid hitting her. “Hey!” he yelled. “Watch where you’re going.”

An extra dose of adrenaline surged through Maria, but she didn’t break stride.

Logan stood frozen on the sidewalk, his mouth hanging open. “He’s right. You could have gotten killed.”

Since the moped had missed her, there were more important matters to discuss. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

He shrugged his broad shoulders. With his short hair and smooth shave, he would have looked out of place in Key West even if he hadn’t been wearing dark clothes. His slacks and shoes were black. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his dark gray dress shirt in deference to the heat.

“I was following you,” he said.

Never would it have occurred to her that Logan was the one on her tail. How could it? Before Monday, she’d seen him exactly once in eleven years. She would have recognized him anywhere, though. He was even better looking now than he’d been as a teen. His face was a little leaner, his golden-brown hair a little darker, his once-straight nose not quite perfect. Except that didn’t make sense. Logan Collier wasn’t the type of guy who got his nose broken.

“How did you know I was here?” The answer occurred to her before he could answer. “Annalise. She’s the only one I told.”

“She’s worried about you,” he said, not bothering to deny it.

“I didn’t tell Annalise where I was staying,” Maria said. “What did you do? Call hotels at random and ask to be connected to my room?”

“Not at random, alphabetically,” he replied. “I’m lucky you’re staying at the Blue Tropics.”

If she hadn’t been so irked, she would have been impressed.

“I hung up before I got put through to your room,” he continued. “I was on my way to the hotel when I saw you leaving.”

He sounded matter-of-fact, as though it was perfectly logical that he should be here in Key West following her.

“I don’t get it,” she said. “Weren’t you supposed to go back to New York today? Isn’t it vitally important you spend your holidays in the office?”

He stiffened. She wasn’t sure why. He’d made it clear long ago that his job was his number one priority.

“It’s only Wednesday,” he said. “I can be back by the weekend.”

She got close to him to better make her next point. A mistake. Last night’s dream was still fresh in her mind and she pictured herself naked in his arms. She breathed in his clean scent, dismayed that it had become familiar again so quickly. Physical attraction. That was all it was. She’d already been down this road with him and he hadn’t turned out to be the man she needed him to be. She hardened herself against him.

“You can be back even sooner if you leave today,” she snapped.

“Are you going back today?” he asked.

What did that have to do with anything? “No.”

“Then neither am I,” he said. “I’m going to stay and help you.”

“No way.” She shook her head. “You think somebody besides Mike contacted Caroline. I’ve got to conduct the investigation as though it was Mike.”

Vertical lines appeared on Logan’s forehead. “Why?”

“I haven’t been able to connect any of his friends to Key West,” Maria said. “Until I rule out Mike, he’s the most likely suspect.”

“And how can you rule him out?”

“By showing around this age progression.” She got a copy out of her purse and handed it to him.

A muscle twitched in his jaw, but otherwise his face revealed nothing. He handed the sheet back to her. “Mike would have been a handsome guy.”

Would have been, not turned out to be.

She swallowed back a retort, reminding herself that she couldn’t prove Mike was alive. Not yet, anyway.

“So where are we headed?” Logan asked.

“We’re not headed anywhere.” She started walking and he fell into step beside her. He was only three or four inches taller than her five feet eight, which was always a surprise. He looked bigger than life. “I’m going to the downtown branch of the post office. I hit the other branch yesterday.”

She passed a fresh produce store and turned the corner onto Eaton Street, which was far less crowded than Duval. They passed a coffee shop and a retro movie theater that was playing first-run films. Maria slanted a glance at Logan. “You don’t listen real well, do you?”

“Think of me as your sidekick,” he said. “I gather we’re going to see if anybody remembers him mailing the envelope?”

She sighed and gave in to the inevitable. “Nobody will remember that, but they might remember Mike.”

The sprawling Old Town post office was in the next block. The line was at least fifteen people deep, a big difference from the post office Maria frequented in Lexington. The lines there had been getting shorter while the number of employees on staff shrank. One of the Lexington tellers blamed the internet.

“Why didn’t he email the photos? Why did he mail them?” Maria didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until Logan answered.

“Whoever mailed the photos,” he said, putting emphasis on the first word, “didn’t want someone to track the IP address back to him.”

“That makes sense,” she said. “I’m getting in line. You don’t have to wait with me.”

“Sidekick, remember?” He kept by her side, so close she imagined she could feel the heat of his body. Last night’s erotic dreams came to mind again. She’d done far too much imagining lately when it came to Logan.

It took more than a half hour to reach the front of the line. An Asian clerk not much taller than the counter she stood behind called out, “Next.”

Maria hurried over, the age progression in hand. Logan hung back but only slightly. She got straight to the point, laying the sheet of paper on the counter. “Could you please tell me if you’ve seen this man.”

“You want to mail this?” the woman asked.

“No.”

“What do you want to mail?”

“Nothing.” Maria attempted a smile. “I’m looking for this man. All I want to know is if you’ve seen him.”

The clerk didn’t return her smile. One of her dark brows arched. “What did he do wrong?”

“Nothing. He’s my brother.” Maria tried not to show her frustration. Some people were tougher nuts to crack than others. “I only want to talk to him.”

“How do I know this man wants to talk to you?” the woman asked, her expression hardening. “We’re very busy. You need to step aside if you don’t have anything to mail.”

“But you haven’t—”

“I can vouch for my friend.” Logan was suddenly at Maria’s side, flashing a reassuring smile at the clerk. “She’s been worried about her brother since he went missing.”

The flint went out of the woman’s features. She looked past Maria to Logan. “This man, he’s really her brother?”

“He really is,” Logan said. “Could you please take a look and see if you recognize him?”

She nodded once, slid the paper closer and examined it for a few seconds. “Never seen him before.”

Maria shoved aside her disappointment and tapped the age progression. “Could you hold on to that and show it around?”

“Give me a call if somebody recognizes him.” Logan reached into his wallet and handed a business card to the teller. Because he had clearly made a connection with her, Maria suppressed the urge to pull out a card of her own.

“For you, I’ll do it,” the clerk told him.

Maria didn’t speak again until they were outside in the sunshine. Even though she hadn’t wanted Logan along, she couldn’t discount his help. “I owe you one.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” he said. “I’m here to help any way I can.”

Unexpected tears stung the backs of her eyes. She wasn’t sure if they were due to the stress of searching for the brother she’d long believed dead or the fact that Logan Collier was being kind to her.

“Where to now?” he asked.

“Let’s stop at that coffee shop we passed,” she said, nodding back down Eaton Street. “I could use a cup.”

“A bottle of cold water sounds good to me.” He wiped his damp brow. “I’m not exactly dressed for warm weather.”

There was a line inside the coffee shop, too. Great, Maria thought. This would work. “I need to use the restroom. Would you order a cup of regular coffee for me?”

“Sure,” he said.

She waited until he was in line and his back was turned before slipping out of the store. Guilt, her constant companion, once again descended. She ignored it.

She could deal with Logan being angry at her. She wasn’t at all sure she could deal with his kindness.

* * *

MARIA ZIGZAGGED THROUGH the palm-lined Key West streets, walking quickly and taking peeks over her shoulder to make sure Logan wasn’t following her. Old Town was a mix of retail shops, business offices, small hotels and private residences housed in wood-frame structures painted in pastel shades. Most of the homes had peaked metal roofs, gingerbread trim, covered porches and wreaths on the doors.

After about a half mile, she stopped watching her back. She continued to work on squashing her guilt over giving Logan the slip when he’d flown a thousand miles to offer his help.

He was a distraction she couldn’t afford. If her brother were alive, she might have only a short window of time to find him before he took off again.

Key Carl could help her focus her efforts.

She spied the other private investigator’s office in a pale green, one-story duplex with a real estate office on the other side. A petite young woman with a mass of curly blond hair tied back in a ponytail emerged from Key Carl’s place. She checked the door to make sure it was locked before walking in the opposite direction.

“Wait!” Maria called. “You with the blond hair.”

A tour bus passed by, drowning out her voice. The woman waited until the bus passed before hurrying across an intersection to a block that appeared mostly residential.

She moved fast for such a small person. Her wedged sandals and snug yellow skirt didn’t even slow her down. Maria ran to catch up, crossing the street against the light and slowing only when she got to within a few paces.

“You’ve gone and done it now, Kayla,” she heard the woman say. “You wanted him to notice you. Well, he can’t help but notice if you screw up.”

The roar of the bus might not be the only reason the woman hadn’t heard Maria calling. She was talking to herself.

“Excuse me,” Maria said in a voice loud enough to be heard at a rock concert.

The blonde startled, her hand flying to her throat. She whirled, her posture relaxing when she got a look at Maria. “Oh, you scared me!”

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