Praise for New York Times Bestselling Author
Heather Graham

“Graham shines in this frightening tale. Paranormal elements add zing to her trademark chilling suspense and steamy romance, keeping the pages flying.”

—Romantic Times on Haunted

“Graham’s tight plotting, her keen sense of when to reveal and when to tease…will keep fans turning the pages.”

—Publishers Weekly on Picture Me Dead

“An incredible storyteller!”

—Los Angeles Daily News

“Demonstrating the skills that have made her one of today’s best storytellers, Ms. Graham delivers one of this year’s best books thus far.”

—Romantic Times on Hurricane Bay

“A suspenseful, sexy thriller…Graham builds jagged suspense that will keep readers guessing up to the final pages.”

—Publishers Weekly on Hurricane Bay

“A roller-coaster ride…fast-paced, thrilling…Heather Graham will keep you in suspense until the very end. Captivating.”

—Literary Times on Hurricane Bay

“The talented Ms. Graham once again thrills us. She delivers excitement [and] romance…that keep the pages flipping quickly from beginning to end.”

—Romantic Times on Night of the Blackbird

“With the name Heather Graham on the cover, you are guaranteed a good read!”

—Literary Times

HEATHER GRAHAM
IF LOOKS COULD KILL

This one has to be for family and friends:

Dedicated with love to Victoria Graham Davant,

my sister and best friend,

because I couldn’t imagine life without her.

To Lisa Charge Alvarez,

for being the stuff of which heroines are made.

To Katie and Sam DeVuono, not only for being family,

but also for being the nicest, warmest,

most giving people in the world.

To Mary Pozzessere Durso, Auntie May,

for her unwavering support, and so I can make

absolutely sure she gets a copy of this one.

To Ginger Crosbie, for doing such a

great job of getting us all together.

And to Keith Pozzessere, for being so proud of the name,

and for always making sure that he’s part of our family.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Epilogue

Prologue

Madison could hear the voices coming from the bedroom, and she was afraid.

She was twelve, nearly thirteen, so it wasn’t a matter of being easily frightened, or even a matter of not knowing what went on in the world—she did. Her beautiful, volatile mother had married the equally volatile and temperamental artist Roger Montgomery, and ever since then, voices and sounds had often come from the master bedroom.

But tonight…

Something was different. It wasn’t just the usual passionate argument that was going on. They weren’t hurting accusations of infidelity at one another. There was a different voice in the room, a hushed voice….

A menacing, sexless voice that sent shivers racing along Madison’s spine. The voice was evil. Madison knew it. She told herself that she was being fanciful—that it might even be her mother’s voice, since Lainie Adair was such a highly acclaimed actress, known for her uncanny ability with accents.

But it wasn’t her mother. Madison was certain.

She knew that her mother wasn’t playing games or acting out some sex fantasy. Someone, something…evil…was in the room.

She wondered if Roger was there, as well. She didn’t know. She could hear her mother’s voice, rising, falling, a note of hysteria, of pleading, in it. Then she heard the whispered, sexless voice again. The different voice.

The evil voice.

The voice that made her skin crawl.

Without thinking, she’d come out of her own room, and now she stood in the hallway, a trembling wraith in her oversize cotton T-shirt. She moved along the hall, anxious to reach her mother, but at the same time afraid. She’d never been afraid this way. She could watch the most gruesome horror movie without flinching; she was always willing to accept a reckless dare. She had defied the very real possibility of monsters in the closet or under her bed as a young child, telling herself that she simply wouldn’t be afraid. The darkness didn’t frighten her; she wouldn’t allow it to.

But tonight…

Oh, God, she was terrified. It was the voice. That voice, with its undercurrent of sibilant, menacing evil. The hallway seemed to be a million miles long, though it couldn’t have been more than forty feet from her doorway to her mother’s. The harder she tried to make herself move, the more weighed down she seemed to be. Fear constricted her throat, so she couldn’t cry out, and yet she knew that she shouldn’t cry out, that she couldn’t let the voice know she was coming.

She had to move, to see the person connected to the voice.

She wanted to run, but she couldn’t, because something terrible might happen if she did.

Except that something terrible was already happening, and she absolutely had to be brave. She had to stop the evil.

The evil was in the air around her, pressing down on her. It made the air thick and heavy, so that it was a struggle just to walk down the hallway. It seemed to make the door to her mother’s room swell and bulge against the doorframe, while the light within seemed to radiate out in strange shades of bloodred evil.

She tried to be rational.

Surely her mother and Roger were just fighting.

She needed to be calm, rational. To pound on the door and remind her mother that she needed a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. Of course, if Lainie was fighting with Roger, it was quite possible that they would make up before Madison even reached the door, and then, if she went storming in, well…

She wished she would interrupt Lainie and Roger at some wickedly sexual enterprise, but she knew she wouldn’t.

She knew. God help her, she knew.

She could feel what her mother was feeling, and Lainie was afraid. She was being threatened, and she was trying to argue in return. She was speaking desperately, in a placating voice. She was trying to…

Madison went dead still, shaking, drenched in an icy sweat. Because she wasn’t just feeling what Lainie felt.

She was seeing! Seeing what Lainie saw.

And Lainie saw a knife.

Big, glinting silver, wickedly sharp. A butcher’s knife. Madison had seen it before, in the kitchen. It belonged there, in the block of chef’s knives that sat on the counter. It was raised high in the muted light of the bedroom, high above Lainie.

Lainie watched…and through her eyes, Madison saw.

The knife slashed downward with brutal, merciless strength.

Lainie screamed, but Madison didn’t hear her mother’s cry, because she was screaming herself, doubling over. Feeling. Feeling what her mother felt.

The knife.

Tearing into her. Through flesh and muscle. Ripping into her, just below the ribs.

Madison staggered and began to fall. She leaned against the wall, feeling the agony of torn flesh, the chill, the fear. She gripped her middle and looked down, and she saw blood on her hands….

She was cold. Blackness was surrounding her. Her hand on the wall, she struggled for support. She tried to talk, to scream again, to cry for help, but the blackness overwhelmed her, and she sank to the floor.

“Madison. Madison!”

She woke to the urgent sound of her name. She opened her eyes. She was lying on the living room couch, and Kyle was there, Roger’s son. Eighteen now, five years and a few months older than she was, a dozen years older in his superior attitude. Black-haired, green-eyed, Mr. Jock, quarterback of his football team. She hated him half the time, especially when he called her “squirt,” “airhead” or “bimbette.” But when his friends weren’t around and he wasn’t busy impressing the cheerleaders, he wasn’t a bad kid. Solid. Down-to-earth. When she was convinced she was a product of the most dysfunctional family of all time, he told her to stop whining, that lots of people had step-and half brothers and sisters. In fact, if he hadn’t been her step-brother, she might even have had a crush on him. But since he was, she wouldn’t even let herself think about that.

Okay, so maybe she had a few more than most. And okay, so Lainie was an unusually cool mom; in fact, she was hot. It wasn’t so bad to have Lainie for a mother, or Roger for a stepfather. Her real dad, Jordan Adair, was a world-renowned writer. And who actually cared how many stepmothers she’d had, huh?

Sometimes Madison hated Kyle, but other times, when she had reached the pits, he could make her laugh. And sometimes, sometimes, he even made her feel warm. As if she belonged somewhere.

But now he was staring at her, green eyes shining with tears. “Madison?”

“Madison…are you all right, Madison?”

She turned slightly. Roger was there, as well. Roger, who was openly crying.

“Roger, move aside.”

It was her father who was speaking. The Jordan Adair, a handsome man in his forties with a headful of long silver hair, a silver beard, dark, penetrating eyes. Leave it to her mother. Lainie would only marry men who were different: a rock star first, a writer, an artist. Jordan liked women in the arts, as well, but he didn’t seem to be quite as picky. He’d been through an opera singer, a stripper, a ballet dancer and Lainie, and had now broken the pattern to marry a sex therapist. He’d always loved Lainie, though. Always. And Madison knew that he loved her, too.

Like Roger and Kyle, Jordan had tears in his eyes.

She became aware of the sirens then. And the fact that the foyer was filling with cops. Roger moved away. She saw more of her family, her sister and her step-and half-siblings, standing awkwardly in the living room.

The girls, Jassy and Kaila. Jassy, her father’s daughter from his first marriage, was pretty and delicate, a dark-eyed blonde. Kaila was her only full sister. She and Kaila were both just like Lainie, redheads with blue eyes.

Her other brothers were there, as well. Trent, her father’s son from his second marriage, had sandy hair and Jordan’s piercing dark eyes. Rafe, Roger’s son from his first marriage, twenty now, was completely different from Roger and Kyle in coloring; his eyes were a misty silver, and his hair was a shining Nordic blonde. Like the others, he was pale now, scared-looking, quiet, his cheeks streaked with tears.

Kaila, just a year younger than Madison and nearly her twin in looks, suddenly began to sob. Loudly. Her knees buckled, but Rafe slipped an arm around her before she could fall.

Suddenly Madison remembered.

She began to scream and scream, shaking. There were paramedics at the scene, and even as she screamed and thrashed and tried in her hysteria to explain, someone came with a needle, pressing it into her arm. She could hear someone saying she couldn’t possibly talk to the police yet, and even if she could, what good could it do? Then the tranquilizer slipped into her, and everything went black once again.

This time she woke back at her father’s house, Kyle sitting by the side of her bed. She heard soft sobs coming from another room. One of her sisters.

“My mother is dead,” she whispered.

Startled, Kyle looked up. He stared at her compassionately and nodded.

“Someone killed her, Madison. I’m so sorry. Your dad is with Kaila, but I can get him for you if—”

“I saw it, Kyle.”

His eyes narrowed sharply.

“I saw it.”

“What do you mean, you saw it? You were in the hallway. Did the murderer run past you? Did you see who did it?”

She shook her head, looking for the words to describe what had happened. Tears welled up in her eyes. “She was terrified, absolutely terrified. She saw the knife. I saw it, too. I felt it.”

“Madison, you were forty feet from her room when we found you. Had you been in there?”

She shook her head.

“Then you couldn’t have seen anything.”

“I saw the knife.”

“Who killed her, then?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t see a face. Just the knife. Just the knife, coming down at her. And I felt it. I felt it ripping into her.” She started to shake and sob again. Her mother had been killed, and it hurt as if a million tiny knives were digging into her heart. Lainie had been wild, headstrong and reckless, but Lainie had also been her mother, the one who held her, cherished her, laughed with her, shook her head over her, took the time to make red pipe-cleaner hearts with her class last February. Her mother was dead, and she didn’t think she could bear it.

Kyle didn’t try to say anything else. He sat beside her on the bed, taking her awkwardly into his arms while she cried and cried. Eventually her father came to the room and took her from Kyle, and she kept crying. She tried to tell her father that she had seen the knife, had felt Lainie die.

Her father was gentle and tender, and he pretended to believe her, but she knew he didn’t.

In the days and weeks that followed, the police investigated the murder with energy and zeal. They questioned Lainie’s various husbands extensively, certain that either Roger or Jordan had murdered her in a crime of raw passion. The tabloids picked up on the murder, as did the major magazines.

The cops talked to Madison. Lots of them. City of Miami cops, Metro-Dade cops. She told them that she had seen the knife, had felt her mother die. They didn’t believe her, either. But there was one cop who was at least nicer than the others. Jimmy Gates. He was fairly new to homicide, young, with warm brown eyes and sandy hair and a gentleness about him that soothed her. He wanted to know just what she had seen; he made her think back. When he questioned her, she saw the hand holding the knife. And she knew then that the killer had worn thin, flesh-colored gloves, like a doctor’s gloves.

She was amazed to realize what she could see, and also disturbed.

Roger was nearly arrested for the murder; her father was nearly arrested, as well. But there was no evidence that either man had killed Lainie. Kyle, Kaila and Madison had all been in the house at the time of Lainie’s death; Roger had arrived soon after. Kyle had immediately called Jordan Adair. In their questioning, the police said that Roger might well have killed Lainie, left by a window, disposed of the weapon and returned to pretend to find his wife. And Jordan’s home was well within walking distance, so he could easily have committed the murder, disposed of the weapon and reached his own house within a matter of minutes. Oddly enough, neither Roger nor Jordan accused the other. And with no evidence to go on, the police finally had to leave both men alone.

Time, Newsweek and People ran articles with headlines like Can Money Buy Innocence?—American Justice.

Jimmy Gates continued to talk with Madison. He listened gravely each time she went over and over what she had seen and felt. He tried to get her to see more, but try as she might, she couldn’t see beyond the gloved hand. Her father told Jimmy that he couldn’t torment her anymore, but she told her father she wanted to see Jimmy.

Two months after her mother’s murder, a suspect was arrested.

He was a crazy old derelict by the name of Harry Nore. Madison had seen him walking the streets of Coconut Grove most of her life. He begged at the corner of Bird and U.S. 1. Sometimes he shouted about Jesus and the Second Coming; sometimes he stood on the corner in the night and cried that Satan was coming and would devour them all with a sea of flame. He was first arrested for breaking into the house of a neighbor. He had stolen food, which the neighbor would have forgiven, but he had also filled his pockets with the family’s jewelry. The police found him in the kitchen, cutting bread.

With a butcher knife.

Harry Nore was also wearing a gold Saint Christopher medal that belonged to Roger Montgomery, which was what first made the police begin to wonder if the man was more than a thief. In examining the butcher knife Nore had been using to cut the bread, the forensic crews found minute traces of blood.

Lainie’s blood.

Nore’s fingerprints matched some of those lifted from Lainie’s bedroom. And he had a record. He’d already served time for killing his wife with a similar knife.

However, Harry Nore—the bug-eyed, lice-in-fested derelict—never went to trial for the murder of Lainie Adair Montgomery; he was judged incompetent to stand trial. When confronted with the murder, he began to rave. God had dropped the knife into his hat. God told him who was good and who was evil. He confessed to killing Lainie. In his confession, he stated that it was the devil who had come for her, because she had been one of his own brood. Lainie had been beautiful and evil, so beautiful that she led men to distraction and acts of perversion and violence. She was the devil’s spawn, and the devil had come for her. Looks could kill.

Harry Nore was evaluated and then incarcerated in a north Florida institution for the dangerously insane. He had a frightening, nearly toothless grin that was spread across the nation on the covers of the major magazines. He looked the part of a homicidal maniac, and the police and the investigators and the folks from the D.A.’s office were pleased, telling Madison and her family that at least they would not have to live with the agony of an unsolved murder. Nore had been found with the murder weapon, and he had confessed to the crime. Madison couldn’t understand why she didn’t feel as satisfied as she should that justice was being done. She wondered if it was just because locking Harry Nore away wouldn’t bring Lainie back. Or was it the presence of fingerprints, when she knew the killer had been wearing gloves?

The police were happy, and even Harry Nore was happy. He didn’t have to beg out on U.S. 1 anymore. He was fed three times a day.

Life went on. Madison had never thought that it could; but it did. She never stopped hurting for her mother. But though the ache remained, the raw, jagged edge of pain was dulled by acceptance. Even the sensationalism at last died down, and only now and then would a cable channel run a program about Lainie and her wild life and tragic death.

She and Kaila went to live with their father. Kyle, Jassy and Trent went away to different universities. Rafe finished at Florida International University and went to New York to work on Wall Street. Madison went to school, dances and parties, tried out makeup, shaved her legs, pierced her ears and temporarily dyed her hair a brilliant blue for Halloween. Seasons passed; she fell in and out of love. Her father married twice in three years. Both women were gone so quickly she barely remembered their names.

She began to forget that she had actually seen the knife coming down as it killed her mother.

Began to forget…

She was young, and life went on. She would always love Lainie, always remember her. But each day the little things began to matter more. Her sisters and brothers. Jassy, who looked after her. Kaila, who needed her. Rafe and Trent, who were gentle with her. Kyle, who was kind for a while, then infuriating, then strong, or gentle, when she needed help the most. Life had to be lived.

Pain and fear gradually faded.

But she was the spitting image of her mother.

And the terror was destined to follow her.

1

Twelve Years Later…

Madison felt the dream wash over her, and instinctively, even in her sleep, she fought it. She tried to awaken. No good—she was entangled in it.

She heard herself laughing, except that it wasn’t really her. She was the other woman, the woman in the dream. Pretty, auburn-haired, charming. Out for the night with a charismatic man. She was so excited. The feel of anticipation was exhilarating. They were going to make love. She wanted to. She wanted to be swept away, seduced, and when the weekend was over, she would finally share him, his name, with her friends. She would laugh and tell them what a wonderful lover he had been; at work, she would share intimate little secrets about how incredibly romantic he was, how erotic their affair could be, and she would be so happy, a woman in love with her handsome lover, a man who loved her, as well….

Madison knew that something was wrong. She screamed inside the dream, but to no avail. She was the pretty woman, and she was swept away by the excitement, the longing, the human desire to be touched and adored…. Oh, God, there was something so pathetic about being so needy.

The landscape swept by the car. Madison did and didn’t recognize it. She wanted to wake up, to stop what was happening, but she couldn’t.

The couple laughed and teased. She couldn’t see the man’s face, but she saw the woman’s beautiful dark red hair whipping in the wind as they drove.

Darkness descended. Time elapsed….

They were in a bedroom. A shadowy hotel room. She was laughing again, so delighted. They kissed, murmuring. He undid the buttons of her blouse…one by one…touched her, stroked her….

Madison wanted to look away; she felt like a voyeur, watching such intimacy. The redhead was willing to do anything. Anything to please her lover. Naked, they entwined on the bed. She let him turn her over, onto her belly. His fingers threaded into her hair, drawing her head back. She only twisted her head slightly, looking back at her lover, and it was then that she saw…

The knife…oh, God, the knife, descending…

Madison woke up, desperately choking back a scream. Carrie Anne was watching a video in her room; she couldn’t alarm her daughter. Oh, God, she was still shaking. She hadn’t had such a horrible, realistic dream in a very long time.

She looked at her watch. It was nearly five in the afternoon; she’d promised to sing tonight. She hadn’t intended to fall asleep, hadn’t meant to nap. And she certainly hadn’t meant to dream. And, oh, God, such a dream, so horribly, painfully vivid and terrifying…

She got up and paced her room for a moment, then dialed Jimmy Gates at the office. He was still at work.

“Madison?” he asked when she started talking, explaining.

“Jimmy, this dream…”

He listened as she talked.

“Jimmy, has anything happened? Do you know anything about what I’m telling you?”

He hesitated, and she winced. Yes, something had happened.

“I don’t know…. I mean, I’m not sure if the scenario’s like you’re describing or not, but…Listen, I’m on an investigation. I was going to call you anyway, after the weekend. I need your help. You’re spending the weekend down at your dad’s, right?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll pick you up at your place Monday morning. We can get going from there, huh? Try to have a good weekend. Give Carrie Anne a kiss for me, will you? Maybe I’ll even get down there. And don’t worry—there’s not a thing you can do for anyone now except yourself, okay?”

She nodded and hung up, then sighed, glad because the terrifying vividness of the dream was already fading. She hated it when she had such dreams.

She drew a brush through her hair. Well, she’d called Jimmy. She would do what she could, as she had a few times in the past. Thankfully, it was rare that the dreams came to her. When she could help, she did. Yet she knew that she couldn’t cure all the evils in the world. She couldn’t even cure all the problems in her own family.

The dreams had started with her mother’s death.

She lay down on her bed again, staring up at the ceiling, wishing she didn’t feel so overcome by memories. She hadn’t had any strange visions for five years after her mother’s death.

Then she’d had the first of the dreams.

In her dream she was walking away from an unknown house. Quietly. Tiptoeing. She realized that she held a gun. She heard noises and saw a car. She was angry, somehow aware that it was her car, and that someone was trying to steal it.

She crept out and raised the gun….

There was a violent pain in her arm, and she cried out, then woke up, rubbing her arm and shaking.

She was in her bedroom at her father’s house, the room she shared with her sister Kaila. Kaila was across the room in her own bed, just waking up, rubbing her eyes. “Madison? Madison, what’s wrong?” She jumped out of bed and came hurrying over to Madison’s bed, sitting beside her.

They often fought, as most sisters, especially those so close in age, fought. But there was also a warmth between them. They were very unalike in personality, yet so similar in appearance that they might have been identical twins.

“It was nothing, just a dream,” Madison assured Kaila quickly.

“Did you hurt your arm?”

“What? No?” But she was still rubbing her arm, even though there was nothing wrong with it. She shook her head sheepishly. “No, no, I’m fine. I had a nightmare, but it’s all right now. Sorry I woke you.”

“What was it about?”

“It was stupid. I was somebody else, in a different house. Someone was trying to steal my car, and I had a gun and was going to stop what was happening—then someone hit my arm, and I woke up. Dumb, huh?”

Kaila shrugged. “Well, different. You sure you’re okay now?”

Tomorrow they would be fighting over makeup or who had taken whose new jeans. But for now…Madison nodded, and Kaila gave her a quick, fierce hug and went back to bed.

A few days later, when Madison still felt the dream nagging at her, she called Jimmy Gates. He wasn’t in, and, feeling foolish, she left no message except her first name.

That afternoon, when Madison was driven home by Darryl Hart, the Hart-Throb of the school, she was startled to see a car in her father’s expansive driveway, with a familiar man leaning against it. Detective Jimmy Gates. He was a little bit older now, showing premature signs of silver at his temples. He looked distinguished, befitting a man who’d gotten a number of promotions and citations during the five years since Lainie’s murder.

She stared at him, feeling increasingly uneasy. She shouldn’t have called him. She’d just had a dream, that was all.

Darryl behaved like the perfect high school stud he was, setting protective hands on her shoulders. “Who is he? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Darryl. He’s an old friend of the family. I think we probably need to talk alone. Call me later tonight?”

“Sure. Except maybe I shouldn’t leave you alone with him. So much strange stuff happens these days.”

“It’s all right, Darryl. He’s a cop.”

Darryl drove away unhappily, watching her in the rearview mirror as he backed out of the drive. Jimmy smiled at her. “Hi.”

“Hi, Jimmy. You still playing ‘Miami Vice’?” she asked him.

He shrugged. “You know there’s no such thing,” he said.

“Homicide,” she said flatly.

“Yeah, I’m still homicide. And I need to know why you called.”

She hesitated, then told him about the dream, apologizing for calling him while trying to sound matter-of-fact and not like a fool.

Jimmy looked off into the distance, hesitating, then stared at her. “Have you heard about the Peterson case?”

She nodded and tried to pretend that a strange, cold sensation wasn’t sweeping over her. She’d heard. Everyone in the city had heard. Earl Peterson had gotten his legally licensed handgun out of the cabinet where he kept it carefully under lock and key, to go outside when he heard noises by his car. He had tussled with someone outside and been killed with his own gun. He’d been found by his wife at six o’clock the following morning.

“I think maybe you can help me,” Jimmy said.

“You do?” She shouldn’t have called him. She felt ill. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to help him—she just wished she didn’t have the knowledge to do so.

“You have something, Madison. Something special. Will you help me?”

She hesitated. Her father wouldn’t like it, but she was almost eighteen. She had seen Mrs. Peterson sobbing softly on television, and if she could do anything to ease the woman’s suffering, she would.

She walked toward the car, and Jimmy opened the passenger door for her. She slid into the seat.

They drove to the crime scene.

A BMW sat in a tree-lined drive. Madison walked over to it, so alarmed by the cold, dark sensation sweeping over her that she nearly backed away. Only the memory of Mrs. Peterson’s tearful appeals kept her moving.

Then she stood still.

She closed her eyes. She had a vision of night; of a feeling of anger. She could hear breathing, controlled, growing heavier. Mr. Peterson. She saw his hand, saw the weapon he held as he carefully, angrily moved around the BMW toward the large, shadowy figure trying to break into the car. She started violently as a second figure—unnoticed until then—suddenly stepped from the shadow of a large palm tree to slam his arm down on Mr. Peterson’s. Mr. Peterson dropped the gun with a gasp. Madison cried out, feeling the pain in her arm—the same pain she had experienced in her dream. She hunched down, hugging her arm to her body. Seeing.

The man picked up the gun. Mr. Peterson looked up at him. “Now, wait—” Peterson began.

The gunman, a tall, thin white man with a blond crew cut, looked down at Peterson and calmly pulled the trigger twice.

Madison felt the force of the bullets ripping into her chest. She didn’t cry out, but she clutched her breast, feeling the impact.

And the cold. The awful cold assailing Peterson as his lifeblood began to drain away…

And still she saw. Saw the killer turn with his shadowy companion and race across the street into a heavily overgrown vacant lot.

The killer paused and started to run back, but his companion stopped him, urging him forward again. Madison saw them run again, saw until the icy fingers of death eroding Peterson’s vision turned the picture to black.

Jimmy was at her side, helping her up, trembling himself. “I shouldn’t have done this. Jesus, look at you. You’re soaking-wet, shaking…”

She shook her head vehemently. “I’m all right. I’m all right. Honestly.” She hesitated. “I can give you a description of the killer.”

Jimmy ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m not sure I believe this myself. How am I going to get anyone else to believe that you can…see things?”

“Cops do make use of…of…” she began, but broke off, wincing.

“Psychics,” Jimmy supplied.

She shook her head. “I’m not psychic. This has only happened to me twice. But I can give an artist a good description of the killer.”

Madison did give the police a description, and an artist created a damned good sketch of the man.

Through the sketch, they found the man and brought him in for routine questioning. Thinking that the police had more on him than they did, he broke down and confessed to the killing of Earl Peterson. After that, Jimmy made Madison promise to call him anytime she had strange dreams.

But the next time she had such a dream, it was far more personal. And it changed her life.

Madison graduated from high school with honors. She intended to go to school in Washington, D.C., and major in criminology—just like Kyle, who had recently acquired his master’s degree and gone to work for the FBI.

Kyle came to her graduation. They hadn’t seen much of each other in recent years; he had been away, and Lainie’s death had more or less split up the “family.” But he came to her graduation, along with all her other assorted siblings.

He brought his brand-new wife. Her name was Fallon, and she was perfect for Kyle, being perfectly beautiful. He was so tall, dark, well-muscled and good-looking; she was petite, blond, amber-eyed, slim and hourglass-shaped. Madison was surprised to find she wanted the woman to turn out to be a bimbette; however, she wasn’t. She, too, had just gotten her degree and had taken a job with the Smithsonian. She was sweet and charming, and Madison had to admit to liking her very much. She told herself that she would have been incredibly critical of any woman clinging to Kyle’s arm, because he was her…No. Because he was Kyle. And though she told herself that she didn’t have a crush on him, she did. She was jealous.

That night she slept with Darryl Hart for the first time. Darryl was madly in love with her and intended to follow her to the same university. She was the envy of all her friends.

He did everything right. And though it was slightly painful, it wasn’t horrible. It just wasn’t what she had read about, though Darryl assured her that it got better for women.

She certainly hoped so, though she tried very hard not to let him know just how disappointed she was. Darryl was a good guy.

She dated him for her first three years of college.

Then…she had another dream.

She had known that Fallon was expecting a baby. She and Kyle lived relatively near one another—she in Georgetown, he in a suburb in Maryland, just outside downtown D.C.—but she avoided him. She and Darryl and Kyle and Fallon had met for dinner a few times, and everyone had had a great time—except her. So she made excuses not to see them. She told herself that she was a bitch, a horrible person. She should be happy for Kyle and Fallon. Kyle was her friend. He had helped her through the worst period of her life, so it was natural for her to feel a strange kind of dependency on him. It wasn’t a crush. She needed to appreciate Darryl. He was even-tempered. He adored her and was unfailingly considerate. He was handsome, built like a young Adonis. She did appreciate him.

Together, they were perfect.

She was with Darryl when she had the dream about Kyle and Fallon.

It was terribly uncomfortable. It was almost as if she were with them. In their bedroom.

Fallon was on her side of the bed, tossing and turning. She was hugely pregnant, round as a tomato, yet still beautiful, her blond hair a tangled fan around her delicate, pinched features. She was racked with pain.

Kyle, at her side, was up, trying to help her, support her. “It must be the baby. We’ve got to get to the hospital.”

“It’s too soon, almost two months too soon!” Fallon cried.

“But you’ve been sick. We’ve got to get you there now.” He stood, naked. Muscled, tanned. In her dream, Madison tried to look away, but she couldn’t. It was as if she were there.

He dressed hurriedly, eschewing socks and underwear, slipping into his jeans and a T-shirt, and sliding his feet into his loafers while he dialed the phone. Fallon was distressed that he’d called for an ambulance, but he told her, “Babe, you’re burning up. We need some help, fast.”

Madison felt Fallon’s heat. She was burning, burning, burning…like a fire. But there wasn’t pain, there was just heat. And Kyle was there, holding her hand. Fallon was happy to feel his hand in hers, it was just that the heat was so terrible, and then she was shivering, hot and cold, hot and cold….

“Madison, Madison!”

She started, her eyes flying open. Darryl was shaking her awake, looking concerned.

“Madison, honey, you’re having a nightmare. You have to wake up. Madison, what is it? What’s wrong?”

She was soaked. She’d kicked the covers away. Darryl had his arms around her, and instinctively she clung to him in return.

“Want to tell me about it?” he asked her.

“No, no, it was nothing. I’m okay. I, uh, thanks. Thanks, Darryl. You’re great.” She kissed him. But when he wanted to take it further, in his efforts to soothe her, she curled away from him, a nagging sensation of worry refusing to leave her.

Three days later, a message from one of Kyle’s buddies at the FBI on their answering machine told her that her dream had been real. Fallon had died as the result of complications from a virus, along with her premature, stillborn daughter. The funeral was Friday, in Manassas, Virginia.

Madison’s entire family attended the funeral. Her own father had always gotten along exceptionally well with Kyle and Rafe, and Jordan Adair and Roger Montgomery still remained friends. Darryl, naturally, attended with Madison.

Kyle looked like hell. He wasn’t quite twenty-six, but he’d already acquired a few silver strands of hair at his temple. His grief was terrible. Madison felt numb.

In church, she remained on her knees, head bowed, through most of the ceremony. She wondered if she might not be a terrible human being, if her jealousy might not have killed Fallon. The logical side of her brain tried to assure her that it couldn’t be so, but she still felt somehow responsible, and it was an incredibly bad feeling. She wanted to run away.

She had only a few moments alone with Kyle. He came to her while she was kneeling by the coffin during the family’s last viewing.

He knelt at her side, and she tried very hard not to cry while he adjusted the prayer book in his dead wife’s hands. “At the end, she told me that you knew,” he said suddenly. He stared at her in a way that gave her chills. “She said you were with us, that she was glad you were there. She told me I should look out after you.”

He wasn’t staring at her, though, as if he wanted to look after her. He was, in fact, staring at her as if she were a demon straight out of hell, as if he wished she would get as far away as possible from the beloved body of his wife.

Madison stared at him in return. “I have no idea what she meant,” she lied. “I’m sorry, Kyle. I’m so, so sorry.”

“You have no idea?” he repeated. And his voice was deep, rumbling with a strange anger. “What kind of a witch are you, Madison?” she thought she heard him whisper. And she saw his hands, folded prayer-fashion over the coffin now, tighten. Tighten with power and anger. Then he stretched his fingers out, as if aware of his terrible tension. He stared at them, handsome face taut with grief, blue eyes glittering. His hands slowly began to clench again, as if he would like to wind them around her neck, as if he, too, wondered if she couldn’t somehow be responsible….

“No!” Madison whispered beneath her breath, then hurried from his side. She forced herself to go through the funeral and over to Kyle’s house, where friends and family gathered after the service. When she said goodbye to Kyle and Roger, who stood at his side, she said it with a new sense of finality.

Madison immediately changed her major from criminology to communications. She’d always avoided acting, because of her mother, and writing because of her father, but she discovered she had a flair for photography, and though she had avoided modeling because of Lainie, she found herself giving in to friends in the school of photography who needed help putting together portfolios for job interviews.

On a spring break trip to Las Vegas, she married Darryl. Nine months later to the day, she gave birth to Carrie Anne Hart.

Darryl went to work for an engineering firm in Fort Lauderdale. Madison did runway modeling and an occasional photographic shoot while being a mom and working on her own photography.

Two and a half years after their marriage, Darryl came home to find Madison in tears. He wanted to know what was wrong. There was nothing wrong, she said. She was wrong. Their marriage was wrong. He was wonderful, but she didn’t love him the way that she should.

Well, he wasn’t so wonderful, he told her. Then he admitted to having an affair with one of his file clerks.

Madison wasn’t sure why she was so furious, when she was appalled at herself for never having really loved Darryl. He wanted to patch things back together. He was so contrite that it was terrible.

In the end, oddly enough, they managed to part as friends. Good friends.

But Darryl accepted a job offer in the D.C. area. He needed to start over; she understood.

When all three of them could manage it conveniently, Madison saw to it that Carrie Anne went to stay with her father for a few days to a week. On those occasions, Madison began to accept more and more modeling jobs. While she was off on location in the Keys on one of them, she and some of the other models got a little giddy on a drink the bartenders were calling a Storm Front. She was surprised to find herself singing on stage with the hotel’s poolside band, and even more surprised to discover that she was good.

She was alarmed when one of the photographers showed her a few of the pictures he had taken while she was performing.

She looked exactly as Lainie had looked before her death. Long, thick auburn hair, large, bright blue eyes. She was taller, about five-foot-eight, but her face was Lainie’s classic oval, her nose, her mouth…just like Lainie’s. She had loved her mother, even though she hadn’t wanted to grow up to be her, wild, headstrong, going through husbands like toilet paper, heedless of the feelings of others….

Joey King, leader of the hotel band, wanted her to take a job with them. He was young, excited.

“We’re on the brink of something really good happening. I’ve sold some of my songs, we’ve had the big music people down to see us—”

Madison finished her drink and stood. “Joey, I don’t want to be a performer. I have a daughter. I have a career that’s going better than I actually wanted it to.”

“Because you look like your mother,” he said.

She stared at him, and he shrugged.

“Sorry, but she was famous. I’ve seen lots and lots of pictures of her, and you do look just like her. Is that why you don’t want to perform?”

“Joey, honestly, I just don’t want to go out on the road—”

“All right, all right, no going on the road, I promise.”

“Groups can make it or break it on the road,” she reminded him.

“I have a wife and two kids myself,” he told her. “Lots of groups have survived nicely just by doing local gigs and being studio musicians, and we have some great studios here. My sizzling desire for fame and fortune has been somewhat dampened by the reality of life,” he added dryly. “So, would you do a few demos with us? Would you sing live with us now and then, when we’ve got some of the suits in the audience?”

His flames might have been dampened, but he was still a determined dreamer. And she liked him. He was blunt and honest, not to mention she’d had fun singing with the band.

She shrugged. “Sure,” she told him. “Sure…”

Madison closed her eyes for a moment, then swung her legs over the side of the bed. Time to stop thinking about the past. Time to get moving.

Life had settled into a pattern for her, and she was happy, she told herself firmly

Well, okay, maybe not completely happy—she was too restless to be happy. She was a young divorced mom living in the same city as most of her family, so she had people who loved her around her—yet she was independent.

There were still the dreams, and when they came, she called Jimmy. But the dreams weren’t all that frequent, and she was resigned to having them. Sometimes she would go with Jimmy to a crime scene, and sometimes she was able to get a feel for something, or have a flash of insight. She was seldom tormented by the visions.

As she had been today.

She straightened her hair and skirt, and caught sight of herself in the mirror again. “Don’t whine, Madison! If you’re not happy as a little lark, at least you’re basically content in life!”

But her reflection remained grave. She felt restless. Uneasy.

As if, suddenly, things were going to come full circle.

As if the past itself were going to come back and haunt her life….

She gave herself a serious shake. She was working tonight. And come Monday, she would help Jimmy. She’d helped him before. Tonight it was time to have some dinner with Carrie Anne and her dad, if he was around, and get going.

Yet as she started for her daughter’s room, she still couldn’t quite shake an uncomfortable feeling. Not just the fear and pain the dream had evoked for a stranger.

An unease that curled around her heart…

Much, much closer to home.

2

Kyle knew that he fit in fine. He might be a “suit” from Washington now, but he was a Florida boy from way back, and he knew how to sit in a Key West bar and blend in with the scenery.

He was wearing cutoff jeans, scuffed Top-Siders and a worn short-sleeved cotton shirt, open at the throat and halfway down his chest. He wore dark sunglasses and a baseball cap pulled low over his forehead, and he sat at a table located in the rear, where shadows fell, leaning back in his chair, legs sprawled on the chair before him as he nursed his beer. He could pass for a tourist—or a local. He guessed that he was actually somewhere in between. Jordan Adair owned this particular place, and it was popular. Folks coming down to Key West liked to have a drink at Sloppy Joe’s, famous as an Ernest Hemingway hangout, but they were equally anxious to fit in with the modern so-called “literary” crowd, which could include just about anyone. Jordan Adair wrote gritty suspense; his friends included mystery writers, true-crime writers, sci-fi and romance writers, those who dealt in history, in general fiction, in nonfiction—and those who were just so famous they could write books that would sell just because they were who they were. Along with the literary crowd, the place offered music—and the music was as varied as the clientele.

Jordan was not only cozy with the attorneys, cops and pathologists he consulted for his work, he was also friends with the film crowd, since a number of his books had been adapted for the screen. Tourists loved to flock here just to see who they could see, with the assurance that—should the crowd be quiet—the music would be good. At the moment, it was late afternoon, and a technician was just finishing fussing with the wires to one of the microphones.

Today, some of those who wanted to be seen were out. A young starlet with an entourage of bodybuilders was at the bar, drawing her share of attention from the tourists, as was Niall Hathaway, author of the latest publishing phenomenon, a hardcover about a priest brought back from a coma through the prayers of his congregation—and dreams about a life with the woman he had once loved and would love again. The book had been on the hardcover bestseller lists for over a year now; the movie rights had gone for well over a million dollars. Didn’t matter. The old guy just wanted to take his newfound wealth and go fishing. Key West was a good place to get on a boat with a rod and a few knowledgeable fishermen.

Kyle wanted to get out on a boat, as well. He wanted to get into the water, fish, dive. Lie back, crisp himself in the sun, drink beer in the breezy heat that usually fell over the water here. And he would. He didn’t have his own boat anymore, but Jordan had told him that the Ibis was his for the length of his stay, however long it might be. He hadn’t had much of a chance to talk to Roger yet; he hadn’t had much of a chance to do anything. He’d just arrived via a commuter flight through Miami International from Washington National, and it felt good just to sit in Jordan’s tavern. Key West wasn’t exactly home, but it was certainly home away from home. It was a good break before starting out in Miami with the local boys from Metro-Dade and Miami. He’d already done some preliminaries, but the Miami authorities had just turned to the FBI, so they were in the early stages of an investigation into what appeared to be a serial crime spree.

Odd, how life moved along—and it did move along. His memories of Fallon still hurt, but the pain was like that of an old knee injury; the flesh had healed over, but the joint would never be quite the same. Still, enough time had passed that he could smile now and then, thinking about her, and recollections of good times, of her smile, mingled with the pain, and sometimes it was okay. Still, it hadn’t been the tragedy of Fallon’s passing that influenced his life most strongly.

Lainie’s death had charted the path his life would take. In coming to terms with what had happened then, he had come to believe that only justice could make things better, could ease the pain her horrible death had brought to her family. Not to mention the fact that his father had been suspected of murder, just as Jordan Adair had been. Following the cops and the lawyers around, he’d been horrified to discover just how hard it could be to catch a killer. Crimes of violence fell into two categories: crimes of passion against loved ones, friends or acquaintances; and then the crimes that were growing alarmingly more frequent as time went along—crimes of random violence. As he tagged along behind Jimmy in his search for clues to Lainie’s killer, he had come to know that the victims of a crime were often those who were left behind to come to terms with a new life and the injustice of their loss. Nothing could bring back a loved one, but closure, knowing what had happened, helped put people on the healing road to sanity.

Crimes of passion against loved ones, Jimmy had taught him, were often the easiest to solve. Science had come a long way; DNA samples could be used in a courtroom, along with fingerprints, hairs, fibers and more. A rapist could be convicted on a semen sample.

Random crimes, on the other hand were hard to solve. Even if the cops could lift a dozen fingerprints, it wouldn’t help if those fingerprints weren’t on record somewhere. Random crimes kept the cops looking for needles in haystacks.

Which was why he’d wound up going into the psychological business of profiling killers. It narrowed down that haystack for the cops.

Closure. It was so damned important. Arresting and imprisoning a killer allowed those left behind a sense of justice—at least the killer had been stopped, and others wouldn’t have to feel their pain.

His work was important. He was glad that it still broke his heart to study the victims of the killers he sought; pain for others let him know he was still living. Because though, it might have been his stepmother’s death that had influenced his life’s work, it was his wife’s death that continued to haunt his own life. He was grateful that she hadn’t been brutally killed, but she had suffered even so, and he couldn’t help but be bitter that someone so young, with everything to live for, had died. There was no justice in her death, no rhyme, no reason. No sense. Fallon had not just been young, beautiful and full of life. She’d been kind, caring and warm. She couldn’t pass a bum in the street without giving him a dollar; she couldn’t let a stray dog run by without setting out a bowl of food. Kids had loved her. She would have been a great mother to the daughter who never managed to draw breath. There was an emptiness inside him as well, a pain that remained for the child he would never hold.

Kyle had been told that time could heal what reason could not. He’d been told that God would give him strength at a time when he couldn’t find it in his heart to believe in God. One thing he could say was that time did go on. He was a survivor, so he lived. He breathed, ate—and drank. Heavily, at first. moderately now. He slept with other women. Sometimes there was something of a relationship there, and sometimes he just hoped for good sex. Life went on, and he did his best with his work and with other people. True justice wasn’t coming in this lifetime, and he knew it; still, it somehow mattered more than ever now that he make his very best effort toward achieving whatever justice he could help achieve.

“Hello out there!” a husky masculine voice suddenly boomed over the sound system. A lanky, good-looking young man of perhaps twenty-eight or thirty had come to the microphone at the center of the stage, which was to the left of the bar. “Welcome, to our locals, our old friends…and to you out there enjoying a spell in our fantasyland. We’re the Storm Fronts, and we’re going to keep you entertained this afternoon while you kick back, eat, drink and catch some rays. My name is Joey King, and with me are David Hamel on bass, Sheila Ormsby on keyboards, Randy Fraser on drums and, I’m happy to say, Ms. Madison Adair herself is with us this afternoon on vocals. Ladies and gentlemen…enjoy.”

Kyle was suddenly glad that he was in the shadows, because he certainly wasn’t prepared for Madison. Especially Madison as he saw her this afternoon.

The band members filed casually out onto the rustic stage as their names were announced, Madison arriving last. It didn’t seem that it had been so long since he saw her last, but it had, of course. It had been a lifetime.

She was the same; she was different. There had still been a little bit of tall, gawky teenager left in her the last time he saw her.

And now…

Now there was not.

She walked with an easy, confident sway. Her smile was as breezy and sensual as a hot summer’s day. She was tall and slender, without being too slim; there were definite curves to Madison. She managed to be elegantly slim and voluptuous, all at the same time. Her hair remained red—like a sunset, deep and dark in the underlayers, sun-tinted with searingly gold highlights. She wore it long down her back, thick and wavy. Her face had matured; her features were fine against the lean oval of her bone structure. Her eyes were large, and a brilliant, crystalline blue. She hadn’t dressed in a way meant to allure; she didn’t need to. She wore a midthigh-length denim shirt with a simple soft-knit shortsleeve pullover in baby blue. Her long, tanned legs were bare, and she wore sandals with inch-high heels.

She was electrifying. The minute she breezed onto the stage, she drew all eyes. It was more than her intense, vibrant, dramatic coloring, more than the stunning beauty with which she’d been genetically blessed. It was her walk, her ease, her confidence, her smile. Her every casual movement seemed to be as naturally, sensually lithe and arrogant as that of a cat.

Yes, she was startling, certainly. Attractive, beyond a doubt.

But, God, oh, God, it was more than that.

She looked like her mother. Exactly like her mother.

Longer hair; shorter skirt, but she might have been Lainie.

Back in the shadows, he felt a grim smile slip onto his face. Funny. She’d always been a little cat. Cute, and more. And he’d always been drawn to her. Yet, curiously, at the same time…

He’d always wanted to keep his distance. There were too many things that Madison could see. And he didn’t want to be seen.

Kyle had been doing no more than sipping his beer. Watching Madison, he suddenly downed the rest, then nodded as a bronzed blond waitress in short-shorts came by to silently query him about a refill.

Madison had been his stepsister. She’d often made him smile with her tart comments on her world, observations that were far too wise for her years. Yet he wondered suddenly if it wasn’t the fact that she was such a dead ringer for Lainie that had really kept him at arm’s length all these years. Was she like Lainie? Lainie’s death had been terrible and tragic, true, but Lainie had also been capable of being one hell of a bitch, heedless of whose life she played with—or destroyed.

Madison was speaking now. “Welcome, folks, to A Tavern. It’s my dad’s place, for those of you who don’t know, and I’m always happy to be here. There’s something special about Key West. Everybody’s kind of free to be themselves down here, and we take pride in taking the time to smell the flowers—and the sea air and dead fish, of course.” Her patter was casual, as the band members tuned up their instruments. She flashed a quick smile at the young man, Joey King, who had introduced the group, and he smiled back. “Anyway,” she added, adjusting her mike on its stand, “we’re about to get started with one of Joey’s ballads, just fit for the island. It’s called, “Love’s on the Rocks, So I Just Swim in My Beer.” Chime on in with the refrain anytime you so desire.”

She flashed another of her brilliant smiles. The musicians were suddenly all tuned up, and Madison was swaying with the beat.

She had a great voice. Fluid, solid, husky. The song had a Jimmy Buffett quality to it, which seemed natural, considering the time and place. The tavern grew crowded as the music wafted out to the street; the crowd laughed with the lyrics, clapped appropriately and sang along as invited. By the time the music ended, the place was so full that Kyle wouldn’t have been able to see the musicians if they hadn’t been standing on a raised stage. The waiters and waitresses, proving themselves to be contortionists, nimbly slid and slithered through the crowd, delivering pitchers of beer, margaritas, and soda, along with food and various outlandish concoctions in souvenir glasses.

The band did another number, a Top 40 rock hit. Then they played another original, this one a softer ballad called “Getting On with You Gone.” Another Top 40 hit, another original, this one about a no-good son of a gun. A few more songs, and then Madison announced the last number before their break. Again it was slow. People were dancing in the limited floor space between the tables and the stage. Toward the end of that final song, Madison looked his way at last.

She might be nerve-rackingly psychic, but he could tell that she hadn’t known that he was there. She stared at him, and she suddenly fell silent. Madison could be one tough, sophisticated cookie, but she was staring at him then like a deer caught in headlights. Well, he must have been quite a surprise. They hadn’t seen each other in one hell of a long time. He’d stayed away, and in his healing process, he’d realized somewhere along the line that just because she’d somehow known what was going on in his life, he’d maybe tried to blame her for it. And even now, he’d come here for work, not exactly to make peace. Still, he was ready to admit to the ill manners he’d demonstrated in his grief. Yeah, he was ready. But maybe, he thought with an inner shrug, life didn’t work that way. The way Madison was looking at him, he felt as if he’d been hanging on to a rope—that she’d just cut clean through. Well, what the hell. They both had their own lives. Maybe there was no reason to make amends.

He lifted his beer glass to her. “Sing,” he mouthed.

Her fellow band members were staring at her, nimbly covering, playing the same beat and chords over and over. Madison seemed to give herself a mental shake, and her eyes left his.

She flashed the audience that pure-charm smile of hers and picked up again, singing her heart out.

Then the music ended, to a burst of applause, and Madison promising that the group would be back.

Kyle thought she might just ignore the fact that he was there. He was somewhat surprised that no one had told her he was coming.

Maybe everyone had just assumed that she’d know he was coming down to Miami to work. Hell, Jimmy should have told her. Her father should have told her. But maybe Jordan Adair had thought it wouldn’t mean anything to her, one way or the other.

And maybe it didn’t, though the look she’d given him suggested otherwise.

But she didn’t ignore him. She threaded her way through the crowd, acknowledging those who stopped her to speak or compliment her and the band, until she reached his table. By that point he’d moved his legs from the chair where he’d been resting them, but he was still wearing his dark glasses and baseball cap, so she couldn’t have seen much of his features in the darkening shadows of the coming night.

She stood in front of the table, looking down at him with her perfect features composed in a cold and aloof expression. “What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded.

“Hello, Madison. It’s great to see you, too.”

“Right. What are you doing here?”

He shrugged, smiling. Lifted his hands. “Drinking beer. Listening to music.”

“What are you doing here, in Key West? In my father’s place?”

“I’m in the Keys on business. I’m here because your father invited me.”

He heard a whistling sound as she sucked in her breath with involuntary surprise.

He used his foot to push out the chair opposite from him. “Have a seat, Madison.”

She sat. Not because she wanted to be with him, he thought, but because she was so shaken.

“Want a drink?” he asked.

She shook her head, blue eyes intently on him. “I’m still working. So…when did this all come about?”

He shrugged. “I was told last week I was coming down to give some assistance on a local investigation. Your father invited me here for the weekend.”

“You’re staying at my father’s house?”

He nodded, wondering why her blunt hostility was so disturbing to him. He ignored that question and instead said, “Your band is good.”

“Yeah,” she said, still just staring at him.

“I heard about your divorce. I’m sorry about that. I thought you kids were good together.”

“It’s all been over quite a while now. You needn’t be concerned.”

“Look, Madison, I’m really sorry if you have a problem with this. Your dad invited me down. I didn’t know you’d be here, and it wouldn’t have occurred to me that it would upset you even if I had known you were here.”

“I’m not upset,” she snapped quickly.

“Angry,” he said.

“Surprised, is all.”

“I can’t imagine why your father didn’t mention it to you.”

Her lashes lowered. Maybe she knew why, he thought. Maybe she and Jordan weren’t getting along. They were both temperamental, and sometimes argued passionately, though they loved one another dearly.

“Have you talked to your dad this week?”

Madison didn’t answer. The waitress was hovering near, watching her. “Did you want a soda, Madison? Some mineral water?”

Madison kept staring at Kyle. “No, I’ll have a draft.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“A draft, please,” Madison repeated.

“But—” the waitress began. Madison looked at her, and the other woman shrugged and walked away.

Kyle grinned. “I was trying to buy you a drink. Let me put it on my tab.”

“This is my father’s place. I don’t need to put my drinks on your tab.”

Kyle straightened in his seat, then leaned forward. “Look, Madison, I’m at fault here. I was pretty rude the last time we met, but—”

“You weren’t rude, you were hateful.”

He shook his head painfully. “Madison, my wife had just died.”

“And I was very sorry,” she said quietly. “And you treated me as if were the Wicked Witch of the West, straight out of Oz, as if I’d somehow caused it to happen.”

“Look—”

“No, you look, Kyle. I don’t understand my sense of second sight. God knows, I don’t want it. But I can’t make things happen, and I’m not—” She broke off, a look of pain flashing across her beautiful features.

“You’re not what?”

She shook her head.

The waitress returned, setting her beer in front of her. Madison thanked the woman as Kyle leaned forward.

“I’m not different from anyone else,” she said through gritted teeth. She picked up the beer and drank it down. She didn’t chug, he noticed. Or, if she did, it didn’t look like chugging. Madison was too elegant for that.

“Madison, I’m trying to say I’m sorry. We were family once, close family—”

Her mug landed back on the table. “You’re not my family, Kyle. You were my stepbrother, but my mother died. You’re not my family. We’re not related—”

“We were family, a totally dysfunctional family. Remember? That’s what you always called us. But you’re right, I’m not your brother. Still, death doesn’t change relationships, and I’d like to make peace—”

“You were the one firing off the ammo,” she reminded him politely.

“And I’m asking for your forgiveness.”

“What? Won’t Dad let you use his boat if I don’t think it’s just great that you’re back?”

He smiled, shaking his head. “Madison, you’re acting like a brat. First, my job pays decently—I could rent a boat if I needed one. Secondly, you’re overestimating your power over your parent. He has his own mind.”

“Oh, really?” She started to sip her beer, then realized her glass was empty. She looked around, as if she wanted another. Quickly.

Kyle leaned closer, somewhat amused. “I don’t think you should be drinking yourself silly—over me. Don’t you have another set to do?”

“I’d never drink myself silly over you, Kyle Montgomery. I’m just so damned mad—”

“Ah! So you are hostile.”

“Hostile? That’s an understatement.”

“I hurt you, Madison. And I’m sorry.”

“Since we’re talking about overestimating things, I think you’re overestimating your power, Kyle. You don’t have the power to hurt me.”

He shrugged, looking around. He saw the waitress and motioned to her. “I’ll take another beer, please—honey.”

He’d added the last on purpose. The waitress didn’t notice, but Madison winced.

“Madison…?” the girl asked.

“Ms. Adair is still working,” Kyle said pleasantly.

“I’ll have another draft, Katie, thanks,” Madison said.

Katie walked away to fill their order. He couldn’t help smiling as he stared at Madison, except that, as he looked at her, he felt a sudden tremor streak through him, hot as fire, constricting something vital in him. She was angry, nasty, could be bitchy as hell.

God, he wanted her.

He exhaled a long breath, staring at her, glad of his roomy denim cutoffs and the table hiding his arousal from her.

She’d been cute and clever at thirteen. Beautiful in college. He’d felt affection for her when she was a kid, pride when she was older, and, always, a strange pull. Now she was pure, sensual elegance. It was startling to realize the strength of what he was feeling for her at that moment.

She’d been his stepsister, for God’s sake, he reminded himself. But they weren’t biologically related, for which he was grateful, considering the purely physical reaction she was causing in him now.

Except that he cared about her, too. Even though part of him wanted to be a million miles away from her. Even if he was…

Unnerved.

That was it. Completely unnerved by her.

He cleared his throat. “Did you drive here, Madison?” he asked her.

“Yes, why?”

“Because you shouldn’t drive home. I’ll wait for you.”

The beers were set before them. Madison stared at him, her eyes hard. “You’re not my big brother. You don’t need to wait for me.”

“You’re drinking too much.”

“Oh, I’m drinking too much. So I should ride home with a beach bum who’s been sitting here drinking for hours?”

Kyle grinned slowly. “I’ll go to coffee next.”

“Don’t bother on my account.”

“Are you staying at your dad’s place?”

She hesitated. “Yes.”

“Then I’ll wait.”

“Maybe I have a date.”

He looked past her, studying the band members, who were again readying their equipment.

Kyle lifted his beer. “Are you sleeping with one of them? Joey King, maybe? He looks like your type.”

“He’s married, with kids.”

“Glad to hear that would stop you.”

“Damn you, Kyle—”

“Sorry, sorry, I just haven’t seen you in a long time.”

“Who I sleep with is none of your business.”

“Maybe it’s the natural concern of an older brother.”

“I thought we’d established that you’re not my brother.”

He shrugged. “Have it your way. Old habits die hard. I’m just trying to ascertain who you’ll be seeing after your gig.”

“Maybe I sleep with the whole band. At the same time.”

He smiled, lowering his head slightly. “Madison, you have the tolerance level of a baby when it comes to alcohol.”

“Really? You haven’t seen me in more than six years! You think I’m drunk already? You think you know my tolerance levels? Then maybe you don’t want to stick around. I’m Lainie Adair’s child, remember? If I’m so loaded, you should watch out. I might resort to some kind of wild strip show up there.”

He grinned, tugging on the brim of his baseball cap. “Well, cool. You did just remind me that there’s no blood relation between us. Our kids wouldn’t have two heads, or anything like that. I’ll be watching and waiting.”

“Our kids? Oh, Kyle, never, not even if the survival of the species depended on it.”

“I think they’re waiting for you, Madison.”

She stood up with sudden anger, then bent down, whispering vehemently, “Don’t wait for me.”

“I’m not having any traffic fatalities on my conscience. I’ll be here when you’re done.”

“Kyle—”

“I’ll be waiting, Madison.”

She straightened. Turned. Wavered.

She really didn’t have any tolerance for alcohol. None whatsoever.

She banged into a table on her way back to the stage.

But she sang just fine. Her voice was great. She moved sensually to the music.

And when she finished, he was waiting.

3

Madison could have kicked herself. She prided herself on looking at life with level, matter-of-fact vision, and here she was, behaving like a two-year-old.

Because Kyle Montgomery had suddenly stepped back into her life.

To make it worse, she reflected, he was behaving well. Apologizing. Putting the past in the past, trying to establish a friendship.

She could be mature, too. She could. He had just taken her by surprise, that was all. And, of course, he did know her. She had no tolerance for alcohol whatsoever—which seemed absurd, considering what her father could put away without the slightest slur in his voice. But that didn’t matter; she had a handle on that now. During the second break, she had laced herself with strong black coffee. By the time the group finished for the night, she was clearheaded. Tired, but clearheaded. So much so that she was able to insist with quiet, mature dignity that she could drive her own car home.

Still, when she drove through the gates to her father’s Key West “bungalow,” Kyle was right behind her. It would have appeared rude to rush in ahead of him and slam the front door in his face, so she stepped from the driver’s seat of her Cherokee, closed the car door and waited. She wasn’t going to appear rude. And she wasn’t going to fight with him like a child. She wasn’t going to embrace him with enthusiasm, however; she was going to be cool, aloof and unerringly polite. Courteous. Naturally, he was welcome in her father’s house. At one time, as he had said, they had been a family, however dysfunctional.

“So, how is being back home in the land of sun and fun?” she inquired as he stepped from his rented Honda and started along the path toward her. He looked good. As if he spent lots of hours in the gym. There were the larger touches of silver in his dark hair than the last time she’d seen him, as if life had beaten him up a bit. It had; she knew that. His face was more striking now, with a few sun lines working their way around his mouth and eyes. He was tanned. He might use good sense and sunblock now and then, she thought, but vanity would never keep him from the outdoors, which he loved. It was, in fact, strange to think of him spending so much time in the Washington area without coming home. She knew that his house was actually in northern Virginia, near Quantico and the office where he worked most frequently, with a lot of beautiful scenery nearby, as well as museums, theaters and sporting events. But he loved the sun and the things to be done in the sun, swimming, boating, diving, fishing. Maybe staying away had been some self-imposed punishment after Fallon died.

Nearing her, he arched a dark brow, apparently surprised by—and perhaps wary of—her conversational tone of voice.

“It’s good to come home,” he said, staring up at the “bungalow.” Jordan Adair’s “Key West shack”—as he referred to it on talk shows—had eight bedrooms and baths, and sat on a patch of man-enhanced private beach. “Not that I would presume to call your father’s house my home,” he said, a small smile curling his lips.

Madison shrugged. “Well, we were definitely the strangest family in the world. My father and your father used to play at being rivals, now they’re each other’s best friends.” She hesitated, determined to keep a grudging tone from her voice. “I’m sure my father considers this place home for you.”

“That was quite magnanimous of you.”

She shrugged. “Well, I’m exhausted. And five-year-olds wake up early.”

“Your daughter is here?”

“You didn’t know that?”

He shook his head. “I drove in, dumped my gear in an empty guest room, saw your father briefly—he had one of his Enter at Your Own Risk, Madman Working signs on his door. He said I should go on over and have a few beers, he’d probably show up.”

“He didn’t mention that the group would be there tonight?”

“No.”

“Sounds like Dad—he also didn’t think to mention to me that you were coming in.”

Madison turned, walking along the gravel drive that led to the tile path to the house. A few steps brought her to the rustic front door—the place was a mansion with every conceivable luxury on the inside, but the weathered wood exterior made it look like something of a crab house. Kyle followed her inside.

The foyer led straight through to a massive living room that opened out onto the patio and pool. On either side, the house sprawled out, kitchen and four bedrooms to the right, Jordan’s office and another four bedrooms to the left. Beyond the pool was a separate building that housed a Ping-Pong table, a billiard table and a multitude of games and coin operated machines. Next to it was a storage facility for scuba and fishing equipment. The patio was always lit, so even though the house was darkened, there was plenty of light for the two of them to see one another.

“Well, as I said, welcome back.”

“And as I said, I’m sorry.”

She shrugged. “Apology accepted.” She hesitated. “How long are you down for?”

“I don’t know yet. I have to be in Miami on Monday. From there, it depends on how things go.”

Miami on Monday.

Madison felt an instant chill, but she didn’t intend to say anything to Kyle. She didn’t want him asking her what kind of a witch she was again.

“What’s going on that you’ve been called down?” she asked casually.

He shrugged. “You don’t know?”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t know.” That was the truth. “I don’t see everything, and I don’t control what I see, and I wish to hell that you’d stop treating me like some kind of freak!”

“What?” He seemed startled.

“I’m not a freak.”

He frowned. “I never said you were.”

“Well, you’ve acted like it.”

He shook his head again. “No…I…No. Madison—it was just a bad time. Hell, I’ve said I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well, welcome home. I guess I’ll see you around.”

“Good-night.”

He didn’t move, continuing to look at her.

She hesitated, wishing she knew more. “You still didn’t tell me exactly why you’re down here.”

“No, I didn’t. It’s a long story. Want to go out on the boat with me tomorrow?”

“No.”

He shrugged. “Well, a boat is a good place to tell a long story.”

“Maybe I’m not that curious. And maybe I could just ask Jimmy—or Jassy—what’s going on in Miami.”

“Maybe you could. Suit yourself.”

“I can’t just take off with you in the boat. I have a five-year-old. And we always spend Saturdays together, unless she’s with her dad.”

Madison thought that a streak of pain flashed through his eyes, but it was gone so quickly that she decided she might have imagined it. But then, he should have had a little girl, too.

But he was smiling at her then, so guilelessly that she was sure she had imagined the darkness in his eyes and soul.

“Your five-year-old is Jordan Adair’s granddaughter. I’ll bet she just loves a day out on the boat.”

She hesitated.

“Hey, sis, come on. I’m just trying to make peace. Honest to God, once upon a time, we were friends.”

“Maybe. We’ll see. It depends on when you’re leaving.”

“Early. By eight.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

He smiled again with a casual shrug, tugging on his baseball cap. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

He turned then, walking toward the left wing of the house. She was glad that her bedroom was to the right.

Get a grip, Madison, she warned herself, hurrying through the shadowed house. Her fingers were trembling. Great. All those years. She’d married, then divorced. She’d found a life; she was happy. Or at least, she got on just fine. And here he was, back for a matter of hours, and she was shaking.

Fuck him.

She winced and tiptoed toward Carrie Anne’s room, cracking the door and looking in on her sleeping daughter. She walked into the room, stood by the bed and smoothed back her daughter’s hair. Carrie Anne was beautiful. She was blond, like her dad. Her features were fine, like Madison’s own. She had wide, generous lips, and the best smile in the world.

She’d made a lot of mistakes, Madison thought, for a lot of reasons. But even if her marriage had been a pathetically bad mistake and her own fault, it had surely stood a purpose, and she knew that her ex-husband thought so, too. Carrie Anne was worth whatever heartache they had caused one another. And oddly enough, they were doing a fine job of keeping Carrie Anne’s best interests at heart.

She planted a kiss on Carrie Anne’s forehead, then walked through the expansive bath that connected their two rooms. She entered her own room, allowing the night-light from the bathroom and the patio lights from beyond to serve as illumination. She flung herself back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. She loved her dad’s “shack.” Her room was large, her bed was plush, and she—like her other siblings—had a complete entertainment center, as well as a working fireplace for those few nights each year when the temperature dipped as far down as the low forties. Her father had spared no expense on his children’s part-time rooms. Carrie Anne’s decor was handsomely Disney, with a little Dr. Seuss thrown in. Madison herself had opted for a white-marble floor with ebony throw rugs and a red-black-and-blue motif that was vivid and passionate. Roger Montgomery, a frequent visitor, had applauded her taste, telling her that she was far more artistic than she was willing to admit.

“Just like my—” he’d begun.

“Your what?” she’d asked with a smile.

“Son,” he said quietly, looking away. “Kyle. He can draw like a son of a gun.”

“I didn’t know that,” she’d murmured, straining to maintain her smile.

“My point exactly. Kyle doesn’t like to let people know he can draw. That might make him too much like his old man.”

“I’m sure he loves you very much.”

“Well, I guess you can love someone and not want to be like them.”

“Maybe. What about Rafe?”

Roger had shrugged. “Rafe’s a great kid, but he can’t manage a stick figure. He’s a mathematician, like his mother.”

“Ah. Well…”

And then she’d managed to change the subject.

She sat up now and slid off the bed. She stepped out of her shoes, slipped off her skirt, blouse and bra, and dug under her pillow for her nightgown, a tailored cotton confection from Victoria’s Secret. As she did up the buttons, she caught sight of herself in the mirror over her dresser.

For a moment she felt a terrible chill and stood dead still.

Oh, God, she did look like her mother! So much so that it was really frightening.

She turned away from the mirror and curled into bed. She put her head down and reminded herself that her life was good. She adored her daughter; she had a good job and good times, and everything was great.

Everything was great, and yet…

All right, there was a lot that sucked, too. Somehow, she hadn’t noticed that. Not until Kyle came striding back into her life tonight.

She prayed for sleep. Kyle was here. He would help solve whatever crime he was here to investigate—or the killer he was after would move on and remain a mystery to everyone. One way or the other, Kyle would leave. Maybe he would keep coming home for holidays, now that he’d been here, but he wasn’t really a part of her life again.

She tossed and turned.

Kyle was here. After her dream. Reporting to work on Monday. And Jimmy was going to pick her up on Monday. She wished she knew what was going on.

She wanted to sleep; she didn’t want to sleep. She was afraid she would dream. She shivered. One way or the other, she had to sleep.

Eventually she did.

And no dreams invaded her slumber.

She loved weekends. Adored them. Not that her schedule was such a brutal one—she knew many women who worked much harder!—but she did have a child in kindergarten, and she did wake up at six-thirty most mornings to get Carrie Anne to school on time. That made Saturdays and Sundays great days, when the alarm didn’t buzz rudely in her ear and she could sleep as late as she wanted.

Not that morning.

It was as if her eyelids had been fixed with robotic alarms themselves. They just suddenly sprang open, and she was wide-wake, staring around her room, where light was just beginning to filter in.

She closed her eyes and wiggled down into the covers. She told herself how deliciously comfortable her bed was. How she could sleep for hours if she wished.

No good.

After a minute, she sat up. She glanced at her watch and swore softly at herself in disgust. It wasn’t even six yet. She wondered bitterly if there wasn’t some silly system inside of her that wanted to go out on the boat with Kyle.

Too bad. She wasn’t going. Carrie Anne was still sleeping, after all.

Thank God for Carrie Anne. Her daughter would keep her from foolishly seeking out the company of Kyle Montgomery.

She had barely started the water running before she heard a little voice.

“Mommy, can I come in with you?”

She froze, then pulled the curtain back as the water beat down around her. “Hi, sweetie. What are you doing awake? Did I wake you up? I’m sorry.”

Carrie Anne, large blue eyes wide, solemnly shook her head. She lifted her hands and grimaced. “I woke up. Just like that.” She frowned. “There isn’t school, is there? We wouldn’t have come down to Grandpa’s place if there was school, right?”

“No, there isn’t school. Put your shower cap on and come on in.”

Carrie Anne squiggled out of her Barbie nightgown and undies and piled her blond hair into a cap. Madison helped tuck her daughter’s curls beneath the elastic rim before bringing Carrie Anne in with her. They both sudsed up and rinsed off, Madison making sure Carrie Anne did her toes and ears, before Carrie Anne asked her, “What are we doing today, Mommy?”

Madison hesitated. She turned off the shower, reached for towels and swung Carrie Anne from the shower to the plush rug at its side.

She took all that time, but then it seemed that she talked before she really thought. “Want to go out on the boat?”

“With Grandpa?” Carrie Anne asked.

Madison shook her head, wrapping a towel around her daughter’s. “I don’t think Grandpa’s coming. He’s really into one of his books right now. But an old friend is down…He used to be my stepbrother.”

“How can somebody used to be your brother?” Carrie Anne asked, truly mystified.

Madison opened her mouth to answer, then shrugged. “Well, once his dad and my mom were married. So we were what people call stepbrother and stepsister. But you know that my mommy died—”

“And went to heaven,” Carrie Anne supplied.

“And went to heaven,” Madison agreed softly. “And then my stepbrother and I didn’t really see too much of one another anymore. Anyway, his name is Kyle. And you know Kyle’s daddy, Roger. You know his brother, Rafe.”

“He’s Uncle Rafe’s brother?” Carrie Anne asked, pleased. Rafe was always great with the kids. Madison often wondered why Kyle’s older brother had never married and had his own kids. Of course, he, like the rest of them, had watched such a multitude of marriages go wrong. Rafe had spent a few years in New York, on Wall Street, and in that little bit of time, he’d made a fortune. Now he was based in Miami, where he played at the stock market and being an entrepreneur.

“Actually, he’s Uncle Rafe’s half brother,” she said. “But we usually just say brother or sister, because except for Auntie Kaila and me, we were all half sisters and brothers or stepsisters and brothers.” She was confusing her daughter, and she smiled. “Honey, Kyle is related to Uncle Rafe. But he’s not really like Uncle Rafe.”

“He’s not nice?” Carrie Anne said with a frown.

“No, no, he’s just different. You know, the way Aunt Kaila and I are different.”

Carrie Anne shook her head. “You and Auntie Kaila look just alike, Mommy.”

“Right—but we’re different.”

“You act different.”

“Yeah.”

“You act happy. Most the time. Auntie Kaila doesn’t.”

Madison frowned, looking at her daughter. She acted happy? Life was a thrill a minute. But it was true that Kaila hadn’t seemed particularly happy lately. Madison wondered what was so wrong, that a five-year-old could intuitively sense a problem.

“Don’t be silly,” she told Carrie Anne. “Auntie Kaila has a beautiful home, a supernice husband and three great, cute little kids just like you. She’s happy.”

“I don’t think so,” Carrie Anne said, then let it drop. “Let’s go on the boat!” she enthused suddenly.

“Okay…then go get your bathing suit on, the new one with the matching cover-up—”

“I will, I will, I know, the sun can be murder,” Carrie Anne said, smiling.

Madison nodded. “I’ll get dressed myself and see you in a few minutes.”

“You should wear your new bathing suit, too, Mommy,” Carrie Anne advised. “The one with the matching cover-up.” At five, Carrie Anne already loved clothes. She took good care of her own and liked to advise Madison on hers.

“Okay,” Madison agreed. “Let’s get to it, then.”

Fifteen minutes later, she was dressed in her new turquoise-and-gold two-piece from Bianca, along with a sleeveless thigh-length cover-up, and ready with a bag filled with snorkels and masks, suntan lotion, and clothing to change into for both her and Carrie Anne when the sun and salt became too brutal to bear anymore. The boat was complete with a shower in the head, so she wouldn’t have to suffer the salt. She packed several books, her own CD player and headphones and Carrie Anne’s tape recorder and tapes.

Just in case they all ran out of conversation.

Then, hand in hand, she and Carrie Anne walked down the hallway to the outside patio.

She saw her father first. He was definitely a unique man, with something of a Hemingwayesque quality. His thick silver hair fell to his shoulders. He wore a straggly beard and his customary clothing—cutoffs, no shoes, no shirt. He loved the image of being an island bum. She knew that women still found him attractive, that his dark eyes were described in interviews and reviews as “brooding” and “charismatic.” Kyle—in cutoffs, as well—was in the chair next to her father. He was wearing dark glasses, but no baseball cap today. He wore his dark hair cut to a medium length, not too long, but long enough to curl slightly at his nape and leave enough to brush back over his forehead now and then.

He was in very good shape. It was easy to see that now, with his chest bare. Lots of dark hair grew across that broad expanse. His shoulders, too, were broad and bronzed.

Jassy was with them. Madison hadn’t known that her older sister was coming. Tiny and blond, but with her father’s dark eyes, Jassy was a dynamo. Despite her fragile appearance, she had gone into pathology and now worked for the Dade County medical examiner’s office. Jimmy had told Madison about the cops who initially didn’t want to take Jassy seriously; one look from her dark eyes and one sure swipe of her scalpel assured them that she was all business.

Madison wouldn’t have minded observing the threesome for another few minutes, but it wasn’t to be. Carrie Anne slipped her little hand from Madison’s and went rushing out to Jordan Adair. “Morning, Grampa!” She sat right on his lap, took his whiskered face between her hands, wrinkled her nose and kissed him on the forehead.

“Hey there, munchkin!” Jordan said, giving her a fierce bear hug in return. “What are you doing up and about so early?”

“I’m going out on the boat,” she said happily, smiling and squinting at her aunt Jassy. “With Rafe’s brother, who mommy says is very different, but nice, too. Are you coming, Aunt Jassy?”

“Where’s your mother?” Jordan asked Carrie Anne.

“Here, Dad,” Madison said, stepping out onto the patio. A coffeepot and cups sat on the counter by the breeze-through to the kitchen. Madison helped herself to coffee and took the fourth chair at the patio table. Carrie Anne was still on her grandfather’s lap, but the three adults were staring expectantly at Madison.

She sipped her coffee. Black. “Good morning.”

“You’re coming on the boat?” Kyle said politely. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. If he was pleased, he didn’t show that, either.

“You asked us.”

“Yeah, I did.” She couldn’t see even a hint of his eyes behind the glasses.

“You can’t come, Dad?” she asked her father.

He shook his head. “I’m in the middle of some research.”

“I told you I’d help you later, Dad,” Jassy said sweetly, winking at Madison.

“When I need help from you, you little whelp, I’ll let you know,” Jordan grumbled.

Jassy shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

“Are you Kyle?” Carrie Anne asked, looking straight at him and inspecting him curiously, the way only children can.

“Carrie Anne…” Madison murmured.

“We did forget to introduce them,” Jassy reminded her.

“Yes, I’m Kyle. And you must be Carrie Anne. I’ve heard very nice things about you. Nice to meet you.” He offered her his hand. She shook it, smiling.

“It’s nice to meet you. Mom said that Uncle Rafe was nicer, though.”

“Carrie Anne, I said no such thing—” Madison began, startled and appalled.

“Did she say that? Well, she’s wrong,” Kyle told Carrie Anne, grinning. “I’m a lot nicer.” He sat back, and though Madison couldn’t see his eyes, she could feel them.

“I said no such thing,” she protested lamely. She looked quickly to her sister. “Are you coming out on the water, Jass?”

“I don’t know. Dad’s decided to plan a party tonight—”

“What?” Madison said, interrupting her.

“Yeah, I thought a big get-together would be nice,” Jordan said, shrugging. “It’s not too often that so many of our family and friends are around. Rafe and Roger can come on down, Jass is already here, Kaila should make it with the kids in a couple of hours, and her husband is supposed to make it back by about seven.” He hesitated for a minute, looking at Madison. “Darryl’s been down for a few weeks now, but we haven’t had a chance to see him, and—”

“You invited my daddy?” Carrie Anne said, delighted.

“You don’t mind?” Jordan said brusquely to Madison.

She didn’t mind in the least; she and Darryl got along fine. Probably because deep passion—involving love, spite or jealousy—had never gotten in the way of their divorce, as it did with so many people.

But she felt Kyle watching her, and she flushed. Angry at her own reaction, she said coolly, “It will be fine.”

“Jimmy Gates will come down,” Jordan continued, “and a bunch of locals. Your band, Madison, and Trent and Rafe can both make it. And Roger Montgomery, of course. It will be like a big family reunion.”

Right.

Their big, dysfunctional family.

Minus Lainie.

And the other mothers, too, Madison admitted silently to herself. She knew almost nothing about Rafe’s mother, except that she had been sick a long time before she died. Kyle had been just a few years old when his mother was killed in a car accident. Jassy’s mom, at least, was alive and well, in Portland, Oregon, studying the effects of carcinogens on sharks. Jassy had definitely inherited her medical inclinations from her mother.

As to Madison’s half brother Trent’s mother, she’d been a very gentle scientist working to cure the world of the common cold. Her dedication and nobility had apparently appealed to Jordan as a young man, but marriage—and a life in the remote regions of Montana, where she worked—hadn’t been for Jordan. Trent’s mother had passed away quietly of a heart attack just a few years ago. Madison thought that Trent was the lucky one of her father’s offspring. He had his mother’s slow, easy nature. He was hard to rile, and not as passionate, pigheaded or angry as she could be herself.

As Lainie had so often been.

Trent loved literature and had spent most of his formative years with his father. He and Jordan had remained close. He, Jassy, Kaila and Madison met for lunch at least once a month, usually with Rafe. It was a firm date.

Kyle was the only member of their strange “sibling” group who was consistently missing.

And now he was here.

The prodigal son returning. And her father was planning a great feast.

Curious. Well, Jimmy would be here. Maybe she could learn a little bit about what was going on.

Jordan turned to his oldest daughter. “There’s no reason for you not to go out on the boat, Jassy. You’ll be back in plenty of time.” He threw up his hands suddenly, shaking his head and turning to Kyle. “Can’t get this one married off. But she makes a great hostess for the old man,” he added affectionately.

Jassy plucked a grape from a bowl of fruit on the table and made a face at her father. “To some of us, the concept of marriage means monogamy—and those vows, you know? ‘Till death do us part’? Some of us take those things seriously.”

“Every good woman needs a man, Jassy,” her father told her sadly.

“Maybe, Dad, she’s holding out for a good one,” Madison said sweetly.

Jordan sniffed.

“Then again,” Madison added, sipping her coffee thoughtfully, “maybe she’s found her good man but has the good sense to keep him away from us!”

Jordan wagged a finger at Jassy. “There’ll be no running off without my knowledge, young lady,” he told her.

“God forbid!” Jassy said dryly. “I’m only thirty-one.”

“That’s not young, Auntie Jassy,” Carrie Anne said gravely.

Madison groaned, but Jassy only laughed. Jordan snickered, and not even Kyle could hide a smile.

“Carrie Anne, that was a terrible thing to say to your aunt,” Madison chided.

Her daughter looked at her with wide blue eyes. “Why? Being old is great. You can drive and eat all the candy you want and stay up late and everything.”

“Yes, but—” Madison began.

“Maybe we should make our exit now,” Kyle said, rising. “Jass, you coming?”

Jassy hesitated, looking at the jeans and shirt she was wearing. “I don’t have my suit on—”

“There’s plenty of stuff on the boat,” Madison said. She wanted her older sister around. “Come with us.”

“Yeah, why not?” Jassy gave her father a kiss on the cheek. “Bye, Dad.”

Carrie Anne gave Jordan a fierce hug, and Madison brushed the top of his head with a kiss. He told them all to enjoy their day and watched as they started down the dock.

Kyle’s gear was on board, already; Madison threw her bag on board, then handed Carrie Anne off to her sister.

For a moment Madison paused on the deck, startled by the sudden sensation of unease that spilled through her. Despite the penetrating heat of the rising sun, she shivered.

It’s Kyle. After all these years, it’s Kyle. I should be staying away from him.

She gave herself a shake, and the feeling was gone, as if it had never been.

Kyle released the dock ties and revved the motor, and they eased out onto the open water.

4

Once past the buoys, Kyle released the throttle, and they motored at a high speed east-northeast. Jassy changed, which Madison checked out the contents of the galley; then she and her sister and daughter took juice in plastic bottles out onto the front deck and stretched out in the sun. They lay in quiet for a while as the boat slashed through the water. The motor drummed, and the sound of the waves against the hull was lulling.

Jassy rolled halfway over. “It’s good to have him home, huh?”

“Sure,” Madison murmured, flopping over to tan her back. She heard Kyle cut the motor.

“I like him,” Carrie Anne volunteered. She sat up restlessly. There was only so much simple sunbathing a five-year-old was going to enjoy. “Mommy, can we do something?”

“We are doing something,” Madison teased. “We’re out on the boat.”

“No, can we do something on the boat?”

Madison didn’t have to answer. She’d brought a bagful of things to do for Carrie Anne; she just needed to gather the energy to roll over and find a few of them.

“Want to help me fish?” Kyle asked. He’d dropped the anchor and leaped from the small wheel-house to the deck. Madison was glad of her own dark glasses then. She couldn’t resist an assessment. Kyle looked good. Fit in every way. Broad-shouldered, deeply tanned, sleek, well muscled. She reminded herself that she lived in the Sunshine State—it was filled with hard bodies, scantily clad and spread out on a multitude of beaches. She modeled for part of her living, sharing her time with some of the best male bodies known to man.

His was better.

Real.

Mature.

Stop, Madison, she warned herself.

Despite herself, she imagined him completely naked. She blushed, and was glad of sun and her glasses once again. Carrie Anne, all innocence, was able to look up at Kyle with pure childish pleasure.

“I can help you fish? Really?”

“Really. If you’d like.”

“Sure!” Carrie Anne said excitedly, her eyes alight. “Can I, Mommy?”

“Maybe Mommy will fish, too,” Kyle suggested.

“Mommy is going to dive over the side in a bit. You two fish,” Madison said.

“Jassy?” Kyle asked invitingly.

Jassy stretched and yawned. “Maybe. In a few minutes.”

Kyle took Carrie Anne aft. Madison could vaguely hear the deep drone of his voice and her daughter’s happy laughter in return.

“Five. It’s a great age,” Madison murmured.

“Umm. It’s before a woman finds out about men,” Jassy replied dryly.

Surprised, Madison leaned up and looked at her sister. She smiled. “So what is up with you?”

Jassy shrugged. “Nothing new.”

“You seeing someone?”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

“Tell me!”

“Umm…give me a little time, huh? I want to make sure it’s not like a…”

“One-night stand?”

“Well, ‘three-date deal’ would be more like it.”

“Are you sleeping with him?”

“Madison!”

“Fair question.”

“None of your business.”

“If you can’t tell a sister, who can you tell?”

“It’s private.”

“Have you or haven’t you?”

“Okay. Once. Just once.”

“Whoa! So it’s serious.”

“I still need to be careful. I have…reasons. God, he’s charming, though!”

“But who is he?”

“Not yet! And don’t you dare say a word to anyone, promise?”

“What can I say? You haven’t told me anything.”

“Please, I don’t want anyone even knowing there’s a man in my life.”

“All right, all right! But now I’m going to be eaten alive with curiosity.”

“Eaten alive with curiosity! Now that will lead to an interesting autopsy!” Jassy said.

“Ugh.”

“It’s a fascinating science,” Jassy said seriously.

“There’s so very much you can learn from the dead when they can’t speak for themselves anymore.”

“I’ll grant you that.” Madison leaped to her feet. “But look around you. The sun, the sea—it’s a great day. Take a break from the dead, huh? I’m going in. You coming?”

“Yeah,” Jassy agreed. “I’ll be along in a few minutes.”

Madison dived in.

Kyle had brought them to anchor just off a sandbar. They were near a few of the smaller reefs, but even having been away for a while, Kyle would have been careful to anchor far from a coral shelf—anchors damaged the precious living coral. They had remained far to the southwest, avoiding John Pennecamp State Park, an underwater park that protected the reefs and the sea creatures living there. There was no fishing out of Pennecamp, though it was a beautiful place to dive.

Madison swam down, estimating that they were in about twenty-five to thirty feet of water. The water was perfect, warm near the surface, cool and pleasant beneath. She shot down deep, touched and stirred up the sand, then kicked to the surface again. She looked to the boat, ready to shout to Jassy to come join her.

But Jassy had moved aft. Madison heard her laughter, Kyle’s deep voice, Carrie Anne’s shrill giggle of delight over something.

Her invitation to her sister died on her lips.

“How’s it going, guys?” she called instead, keeping her distance. The fishing lines would run with the current, and she definitely wasn’t in the mood to catch a hook.

“Mommy!” Carrie Anne cried happily, running to the portside rail to stare down at her. “I just caught a red snapping!”

“Snapper,” Madison corrected automatically. “Great!”

Kyle joined Carrie Anne at the hull, bronze chest glazed in a sheen of sweat, eyes shaded by his glasses. “I was just thinking, Madison, you might want to come up. Jassy was telling me they had a shark attack out here last week.”

She frowned, looking at him. “Kyle, you know that a shark attack is about as common as being struck by lightning. That diver was spearfishing and holding on to the fish he caught by sticking them in his swimsuit. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not carrying any dead fish.”

“But we’re fishing, and Carrie Anne’s snapper is a pretty big guy. He did some heavy-duty wiggling. Lots of distress signals going out in the water.”

“I just want to swim over the reefs for a minute. You can see me. I’ll come back in just a few minutes.”

Kyle shrugged, but didn’t look happy. He wanted her out of the water, but he knew that his argument wasn’t all that strong. Any offsping—or pseudo-offspring—of Jordan Adair had grown up in the water.

As Madison swam from the boat she could feel his eyes on her. She dived beneath the surface, heading toward the reef.

Water was wonderful. It was the one great escape still known to man. Under the surface, there were as yet no cellular phones. It was beautiful; it was freeing; it was a different world.

She surfaced for air, judging that the coral tips were not more than ten feet beneath her trailing toes. She dived again, swimming carefully around the coral, not touching it. A tiny, brilliant yellow tang darted by her; sea fans waved before her. She very carefully skirted a few dusky red-orange stands of fire coral and came upon a monstrous grouper. The fish looked like a plump, outraged British butler.

She surfaced, then dived again, enjoying herself and oblivious now to the fact that Kyle was watching her from the boat.

A shy moray eel moved away from her with such speed that it looked as if he’d been sucked back into the coral. She swam on to the outskirts of the reef and noted something lying in the sand.

Too bad she hadn’t taken the time to put on a mask and snorkel. She couldn’t see the object clearly, and she was running out of air.

She surfaced, then dived again, going straight for the object in the sand.

As she neared it, she felt the all-too-familiar cold settling over her again.

She was somewhere else. Laughing, then not laughing. Laughter turning to fear.

She was in a hotel room. As a very pretty young redhead.

Black phone on the side table, Holy Bible beneath the phone. TV remote by the Bible. She’d come because she wanted to come. She’d been so happy, then…

The flash of steel.

Madison blinked, desperate to free herself from the vision. She had slipped back into her dream, there under the water. She had to surface.

But she had thrown herself to the ground. And as she returned to the present, she could see the object.

It was an arm. Weighed down with a red building brick.

A human arm, from the elbows to the fingers, with the tips missing. Gnawed. She could see bone at the elbow, raw, puffed, bloated flesh.

She started to scream, inhaling as she did so, and then began to choke.

Her vision was clouding again, this time with blackness.

She couldn’t think….

Kick…

Suddenly, someone was with her. Kyle. They were shooting toward the surface. They broke it.

She gasped for breath. Choked. Her lungs and abdomen were killing her. She breathed deeply. And looked at Kyle.

In the water, at least, his glasses were gone. His green eyes were impatient and angry.

“Madison, damn it, I told you to come out, not scare us all to death by disappearing that way. Jesus Christ! Your daughter is in tears up there! What the hell is the matter—”

“Arm!” she managed to croak.

“What?”

“Kyle, there’s an arm in the water. A human arm. A woman’s arm. Elbow to hand. The fingertips are gone.”

“Madison, maybe it was an eel. Things beneath the water are distorted—”

“Damn it, Kyle, do you think I’m an idiot, or that I’m so nearsighted I can’t tell the difference between an arm and a fish? There’s an arm down there!”

“All right, Madison. Get out, throw me a mask and snorkel. And get me some diving gloves and a few of those large freezer bags from the galley.”

She nodded, still so unnerved that it seemed to make sense just to obey him.

She climbed up the ladder at the aft of the Ibis. Jassy was there, her pallor showing that she knew something was very wrong. But Carrie Anne was standing by Jassy, and Madison had to be careful.

“Carrie Anne, go into the cabin and get one of Grandpa’s masks and snorkels, and a pair of gloves, will you, sweetheart? And hurry for me.”

Carrie Anne was a child, but not a fool. She stared at her mother and nodded grimly, then ran off to do as she had been told.

“What is it?” Jassy asked.

“There’s an arm down there.”

“What?”

Madison sighed with exasperation. “There’s an arm down there!”

“Human?”

“Yes, human, what the hell do you think I mean?”

“I’m going down—”

“You don’t need to. The FBI is on the case.”

“Yes, but he’s the FBI. I’m a pathologist, for God’s sake!”

“He’ll bring it to you.”

That wasn’t good enough for Jassy. Carrie Anne retrieved the mask, snorkel and gloves, and Madison tossed them on down to Kyle, who disappeared.

A moment later, Jassy dived over the side of the boat.

“What’s going on, Mommy?” Carrie Anne asked.

She hesitated. “Somebody had an accident. We’re going to have to go back to shore, honey.”

Carrie Anne slipped her arms around Madison’s waist as they stared at the water. “I’m sorry, Mommy.”

She glanced at her daughter, surprised. “Hey, sweetie, I’m the one who’s sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Carrie Anne said, and hugged her tighter.

Watching the surface of the water, Madison wondered uneasily if the man in her sister’s life could be Kyle. They’d both looked so comfortable that morning, sitting at the table with her father.

Kyle had just arrived in south Florida, she reminded herself. But then, Jassy had said that her affair was just beginning. And most of their pseudofamily had visited Kyle through the years, including Jassy.

Madison fought back a wave of sick jealousy, trying to tell herself again that Kyle was no longer a part of her life.

Still…

Jassy had talked about keeping things quiet. About having “reasons.” Madison felt a knot in her stomach.

A few minutes later, the two broke the surface.

“Got it!” Jassy called cheerfully. “Radio in, Madison. We’ve got to get the law out here.”

Jassy. Cute as a button. Smart as they came. Perfect for Kyle? There wasn’t a squeamish bone in her body. Where Madison had nearly panicked at the sight of the severed arm, Jassy found the discovery intriguing.

Madison radioed in, then took Carrie Anne with her to the galley to make coffee.

A Coast Guard cutter arrived. Madison got her first chance to see Mr. FBI in action when a loudmouthed lieutenant started in on Jassy and Kyle for having picked up the arm. In a cool, polite tone, Kyle informed the man of who he was and why he was in Florida. Then he introduced Jassy and informed the man of her position. All very politely. But by the time he was done, he was receiving ingratiating apologies, and he and Jassy were being invited for a dive down to see if any more body parts might be found.

They both declined. Jassy, however, was upset to realize that the arm wasn’t actually hers to investigate. She was Dade County, and this was Monroe. However, the lieutenant assured her consolingly that since the facilities in Dade were so excellent, the Monroe authorities would likely be glad to allow Dade a look at the specimen. Especially considering the recent occurrences in Dade.

Madison didn’t have anything to say on the way back in, and when they reached her father’s house, she immediately took Carrie Anne in for a shower. Once her daughter had, surprisingly and obligingly, slipped into bed for a nap, Madison closed the door softly on her room and hurried down the corridors of the house.

Her father’s office door was locked. When he was busy and no one was to interrupt him unless death threatened or the sky was falling, he taped a picture of a growling bear on the door.

The picture was in place.

Madison glanced outside and saw that Kyle was stretched out on one of the pool lounges, facedown. His bathing suit was wet, so he’d been in the pool. She slipped out the glass doors and went to his side, taking a seat on the lounge beside his.

He turned over immediately.

Shades in place.

He sat up, as she was doing, looking at her. “Carrie Anne okay?”

“Of course.”

“Does she have any idea what we found?”

“I’m sure she does, but she hasn’t really said anything. I told her that there had probably been an accident of some kind.”

Kyle looked down, nodding. “Yeah, an accident, all right.”

“Kyle, what are you doing down here? In the last year or so, Miami has had its share of bizarre killings. There was the guy who went after the prostitutes on Eighth Street, and the man who murdered the poor homeless people and set them on fire. And—”

“And the cops worked those killings,” he told her. “But they were heavily patterned, easier to profile, and the cops had a better handle on the type of killer they were after.” He hesitated. “Plus, it’s sad but true. Who worries about the homeless except for the rest of the homeless—and some guys who actually work the streets and remember that they’re people, just like the rest of us. And prostitutes…” He lifted his hands. “People have a tendency to think that pimps and prostitutes get what they deserve.”

“No one deserves to be murdered,” Madison said indignantly.

He arched a brow. “Even by the law?”

“I don’t know what you’re saying.”

He shook his head with sudden disgust. “I guess I’m just at that stage of life where I’m not sure what’s right and wrong all the time. The last time I was called out, it was up to Massachusetts. This particular perpetrator had already been convicted of child molestation and murder, but because of the laws, he was given two simultaneous fifteen-year sentences. His behavior in prison was outstanding. He chiseled away at his time, was put into special programs…. He was let out of prison on a weekend pass. In two days, he killed two boys and a little girl. How could such a man ever be let out of jail?”

“So you’re saying there should have been a death penalty and it wouldn’t have happened again?”

He shook his head, looking out at the setting sun for a minute. “What happens when one innocent man or woman is executed? You can’t dig them back up and say you’re sorry. Then again, take a Ted Bundy. Who’s going to say that a man like that doesn’t deserve to die? The parents of his victims must have thought that electrocution wasn’t nearly cruel enough.”

“You’re not answering me,” Madison reminded him softly. “What are you doing down here?”

“Oh…”

She spoke slowly. “Those other killings were solved. And I haven’t heard anything about another suspected serial killer in the news.”

He shrugged. “Because no one quite knows what’s going on yet, except that certain evidence is pointing toward a serial killer.”

“What evidence?”

“Madison, you don’t really want—”

“Kyle!” she said, then hesitated, still not willing to tell him about her latest dream. “I can’t get as excited about a severed arm as Jassy, but I’d like to know what’s going on,” she said firmly. “I live alone with a five-year-old and a housekeeper. I’d like to keep my child as safe as possible.”

“Well, this man isn’t after children.”

“You’re certain it’s a man?”

He nodded. “I am.”

“Others aren’t, but you are?”

He smiled. A crooked smile. “I’m a profiler. It’s what I do. And I know it’s a man.”

Madison found herself smiling, as well, shaking her head. “I thought you weren’t even starting until Monday?”

“I got all the paperwork right before coming down. And I think I have a good picture of what we’re looking for.” He hesitated, looking at her through his dark lenses, then shrugged. “First month, right around the fifteenth, a young woman is reported missing. Beautiful young woman, a Debra Miller. She’d talked to her co-workers about a special date she was going on, no name given. She goes home. Goes out. No one knows where. The neighbors remember seeing her jump into her car and wave goodbye.”

“And…her body was later found?”

He nodded. “In the Everglades. Badly decomposed.”

“God, I remember that. That was in the newspapers.”

“Next month, a similar situation. This time it’s a young Latino mother of two, recently divorced.”

“And her body—”

“She remains missing.”

“Well, then, perhaps—”

“Perhaps she’s just missing. True. Third month. A third victim, twenty-five-year-old Julie Sabor, who’d very excitedly told her co-workers there was a new mystery man in her life, disappears. There’s a possibility she’s a Jane Doe in the Dade County morgue right now.”

Any of them could have been the woman in her dream, she thought unhappily.

“But, still…”

“All on or around the fifteenth of the month, all young and beautiful, all with plenty of loving, caring family.” He studied her for a moment. “You didn’t know anything?”

She shook her head. “I remember there was a story in the Herald when Debra Miller’s body was found. And I might have seen an article about a disappearance, but there haven’t been any sensational news stories, and you know how things are down here. The local stations thrive on sensationalism.”

“Well, the cops haven’t let too much out yet. They’re afraid they’ll lose what few fragile bits of information they share with the killer.”

Madison felt him watching her through his dark glasses. The sun was nearly down. He didn’t really need them anymore. The light now was part of what made the Keys so spectacular. Pink light, gentle light. Soft streaks in pastel colors.

“I wish you weren’t divorced,” he muttered.

“What?”

He shrugged, lifting his hands, studying his palms. “What I see so far is a killer every bit as clever and charming as Bundy. He’s smart. His psychological problems are incredibly deep-seated, and well hidden. He’s growing increasingly violent, and more obsessed with mutilation with each murder. He has an association with the middle of the month—not the full moon, but the middle of the month, doesn’t matter what the moon is doing. He’s attractive and accepted. He could walk into the best restaurant in the state and look exactly as if he belonged there. I think that he’s looking for something from his victims…and doesn’t get it. Or hasn’t gotten it yet. Then he grows angry. And then…”

His voice trailed away, and he looked at her, his mouth grim. “I just wish you were still married, because I don’t think this guy goes for married women. He’s looking to charm someone, and he wants something in return.”

She exhaled a long breath, looking out across the pool. “The fact that serial killers exist in the modern world is not a good reason to stay married, Mr. Montgomery.” She stared at him suddenly. “Would you give Jassy this warning?”

He frowned. “Jassy is just so…She’s so full of common sense.”

Madison arched a brow. “And I’m not? Kyle, how on earth could you pretend to know that now? To judge me now?”

He ran his fingers through his dark hair impatiently. “I guess I just can’t say the right thing to you, Madison. I care about all of you—Jassy, you, Kaila. I don’t want anything to happen to any of you. Jassy always has her nose in a book. Kaila is married. You’re out in the world. I worry more about you.”

Madison stood. “Don’t try to profile all of us, Kyle,” she told him quietly.

“For God’s sake, Madison, I’m not trying to be offensive. You’re a model. Out with photographers, other models, men. You’re more susceptible.”

“Right. Any handsome, charming man comes my way and I’ll just say, ‘Why the hell not?’ and drive away with him.”

“There you go again, acting defensive. You’re divorced! You’re in a dating mode!”

“Excuse me, then. I’m just going to go get dressed and put on some makeup. After all, my dad’s having a party. I need to show up in a dating mode,” she told him tartly, then smiled sweetly and spun around.

“Madison!” he called after her.

She didn’t stop.

“Madison!”

She turned. “What?”

He walked to her, setting his hands firmly on her shoulders. “For the love of God, Madison, I don’t want anything to happen to you. And…”

“And?”

He hesitated, still studying her. “And I’m glad that Jimmy Gates has left you alone, and that you’re not part of this case.” He paused, frowning. “He has left you alone—right?”

“You’re mistaken if you think that Jimmy forces me into helping him.”

“So he still calls on you for your hocus-pocus,” he said bitterly.

Madison stared at him, feeling the resentment building in her heart once again. “He doesn’t always call on me.”

“You call him?” he demanded incredulously.

“When I feel I need to, yes, I do! I didn’t ask for whatever it is that I have. I hate it. I really, truly hate it. It’s terrible to have to hurt for other people. But it’s worse to feel that you can do something and not do it. It’s worse to think that you could help ease someone’s suffering and ignore it.”

He winced. “Madison, listen, I just have a bad feeling on this one. My turn to have a bad feeling, a really bad feeling. You need to keep your distance.”

He hesitated for a minute. She was painfully aware of the heat emanating from his fingers as he clenched her shoulders. She liked Kyle’s hands. They were big. He had long fingers. He had his father’s hands. Artist’s hands. Capable of a light touch, and yet very powerful.

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