“What do you want?” Kate asked

“I want what’s mine.”

“And what,” she asked haltingly, “do you consider yours?”

“Don’t worry, chèr’. Not you… I meant my daughter.”

The world tilted crazily around her. He had to be Mitch. Her sister’s husband.

She had to come up with a plan. She couldn’t let this stranger carry her niece off to an unknown future. Yet what could she do? She had no idea where he’d sent the little girl…had no idea where he lived.

If he disappeared now, she might never find Arianne again.

Should she tell him her twin had died? Perhaps he’d soften and handle the matter with compassion and reason. Then again, he might simply leave, glad to be rid of his ex-wife once and for all.

“Pack a suitcase for Arianne,” he ordered her, interrupting her thoughts, “and one for yourself. We have a date with a judge. You left before our divorce was final. And guess what? The attorney you hired hadn’t even passed the bar yet. He had no authority to act on your behalf. Nothing he handled was valid.”

Kate stared at him. That meant… Oh, God, this man was Camryn’s husband. And now he believed her to be his wife!

Dear Reader,

I wrote this book with deep affection for the offshore shrimpers in the Gulf of Mexico—men who face incredible dangers in their work, and do so with pride, a strict code of honor and an uncanny communion with nature. During my eighteen months of living and working on a commercial trawler named the Lady Leone, I came to admire Gulf shrimpers as true masters of the sea.

The hero of this book, Mitch Devereaux, is one of this breed, and of another proud race—the Cajuns of Louisiana. They’re known for their strong family ties; distinctive music, food and dance; making a living off the land, swamp and sea; and an abiding love of a good party. They value zest for life, or, as they call it, joie de vivre. Mitch, however, lost his joie de vivre when his estranged wife ran off with his daughter. Nothing will stop him from tracking them down, bringing them home and forcing his wife to honor their joint-custody agreement.

Little does Mitch know that the woman he finds with his daughter is not his wife, but her identical twin, intent on protecting the baby she loves. This is the story of how Mitch regains his joie de vivre, and how Kate Jones finds the precious spice that has been missing from her life.

As you curl up in a comfy chair to read their story, I hope you laissez les bons temps rouler. A Cajun motto, it means, “Let the good times roll!”

Sincerely,

Donna Sterling

Wife by Deception
Donna Sterling

www.millsandboon.co.uk

I dedicate this to the Kozma clan, especially Eddie,

for “reading every word”; Kenny, for getting me to

the express mail office in time; and Michelle,

for venturing with me into the swampland…

and the Cajun dance hall. We passed a good time, chèr’.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Many thanks to Ron “Black” Guidry, for his swamp tour;

Jesse Lecompte Jr., for answering questions; Doug Lambert,

who has a great little shop in the French Quarter;

and Joe Cruse of The Stormy Seas, who will always

have a place in my heart. And special thanks to

Jacquie D’Alessandro, Susan Goggins, Carina Rock

and Ann White, for their insightful critiques.

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

PROLOGUE

Tallahassee, Florida

Early January

CAMRYN LISTENED for sounds in the early-morning stillness of her sister’s household. She heard only the patter of rain on the roof and the rustling of Florida wind through the palm tree near her window. No one seemed to be awake.

She climbed out of bed in stealthy silence.

Today was the day she’d hit the road for New York City. And Kate would discover she had a baby to watch for the next couple of weeks. Kate Jones, Ph.D., college professor, no less, should be able to figure out how to take care of a three-month-old.

Quietly Camryn dressed in the dark. The baby had bawled for hours after she’d brought her to Kate’s house last night. Stunned to learn of her niece’s existence, Kate had insisted they spend the night, then took charge of rocking, feeding and soothing the baby.

Camryn had expected she would. Despite the years they’d spent apart, she knew her sister. They were, after all, identical twins, and the only family each other had…other than the baby now. Kate would take good care of her until Camryn returned. She would have asked her to baby-sit if she hadn’t been afraid Kate would put a kink in her plans. Much safer to force her cooperation.

After gathering her purse, her suitcase and Kate’s car keys, Camryn tiptoed through the darkened house, tossed a letter onto the kitchen table, then hurried outside through the chill January rain to Kate’s rather stodgy BMW. Camryn’s Mustang convertible had given her problems. She didn’t trust it on another long road trip. The BMW would have to do.

Moments later, she turned out of the elegant Tallahassee subdivision and onto the open highway, headed for New York City…and television stardom. Prime-time soaps, here I come! Everyone who knew anything about show business had assured her that the soap opera producers would take one look at the pictures of her with the baby and write them both into the script—mother and daughter. Her exceptionally gorgeous baby girl was just the gimmick she’d always needed to break into show business big-time.

And once she did, she’d have the means to solve her other problems, too. The one that had been driving her nuts lately was the need for a baby-sitter. The crying, the smelly diapers, the continual demand for attention were more than she could take. She’d originally intended to bring Arianne with her to New York right away, but after a hellish time on the road, she’d decided to leave Arianne with Kate, then come back for her after she made the all-important contacts and found a place to live near the studios.

Being free for a while felt good. Who knew mothering would be so difficult? She’d thought it would be an adventure…a new, exciting phase in her life. Movies and television had made motherhood seem so desirable. So…easy. And while her ex and his family had been around to help, it hadn’t seemed too difficult.

But the weeks since she’d struck out on her own had been torture. She supposed it wouldn’t have been as bad if she hadn’t lost all her money at poker. She’d had to take a singing gig in Atlanta, which hadn’t paid enough for her to hire a baby-sitter and recoup her losses. She’d brought the baby to the club with her every evening until the manager put an end to it…and to Camryn’s job.

She wasn’t about to let Mitch know she needed help, though.

Give me full custody of her, Cam. Arianne would be better off.

Her hand clenched the steering wheel and she fumbled to light a cigarette. Flicking her gold lighter with a vengeance, she tossed her heavy blond hair over one shoulder and leaned toward the flame. Her professionally manicured nails shimmered crimson in the flickering light; her jeweled rings and bracelets flashed. She drew in a biting lungful of smoke.

She’d be damned if she’d give up her rights in their joint-custody arrangement. In fact, when she had more money, she’d take him to court for full custody. Arianne was her ticket to stardom. But she couldn’t let Mitch know about her plans, of course, until contracts were signed with the television producers. Otherwise, he’d try to stop her.

Mitch was touchy when it came to Arianne. He’d made a big deal out of every mistake. Like when Camryn had taken the baby to New Orleans one night. If she’d known the crowd in the French Quarter would grow wild, she wouldn’t have had all those margaritas. Even so, she’d been perfectly capable of handling the situation…except for the bail money, which, admittedly, Mitch had to bring. The public drunkenness charge had been so unfair.

And then there was the time she’d left Arianne in the car while she placed a few quick bets at a casino. The security guard had called the phone number listed on the car’s registration. Mitch had answered…then blew the whole incident way out of proportion. He told her that he would start proceedings to take her custody rights away from her.

She changed the phone number and address on the car’s registration information the very next day. Mitch and she were divorced, damn it. What she did or where she went was none of his business. Later, after she’d left town in the dead of night with Arianne, she’d traded that car—her beloved ’Vette—for the Mustang in Birmingham. She hoped the switch would stop Mitch from tracking her down.

He might not appreciate her style of parenting, but she was still Arianne’s mother. She had sacrificed her flawless figure and several months of her singing career to bring her into this world. For a few of those months, she’d even given up drinking and smoking. Or most of it, anyway. The baby was hers, and she’d take her wherever she wanted, whenever she wanted.

She wondered how Mitch had reacted to finding them gone. He was probably furious.

Served him right. He’d changed drastically from the first few weeks she’d known him. They’d had great times together at the start. But then she got pregnant, and he insisted she marry him. And all the fun stopped. He no longer tried to please her. All he cared about was the baby. Oh, and his precious shrimp boats.

Well, that was where he’d made his mistake. If he didn’t care about pleasing her, he wasn’t going to have his daughter.

Besides, she had plans for Arianne. Big plans. She and Arianne were going to be television stars. Then she’d have money to hire a full-time nanny, as well as a powerful attorney to represent her in a custody hearing.

Feeling empowered, she took the next curve faster, leaning with the wheel to keep the car on the road. The effort won her a dark thrill. Things were definitely looking up.

She hoped Kate wouldn’t be too angry that she’d left the baby with her. Kate had already been upset that Camryn hadn’t contacted her about her marriage or the birth of her daughter. In a way, Kate herself was to blame for Camryn’s failure to call her. She was always telling Camryn what to do. Even when they were growing up in the Tallahassee Methodist Children’s Home, Kate had tried to run the show. She had such strong views on “what’s best.” Few people had the strength to swim against that particular tide. She’d wear a person down before he knew the fight had even begun.

Like when she persuaded Camryn’s first husband to turn himself in and serve out his sentence for insurance fraud. Or when she talked her second husband into admitting he was sleeping around. Could anyone blame her for hesitating to tell Kate about her third marriage?

She hadn’t even mentioned to Mitch that she had a sister, let alone an identical twin, for fear that if they met, Kate would complicate matters. Camryn had been careful not to tell Kate much about Mitch, either…especially that he’d been granted joint custody. She might feel obligated to contact him.

Disturbed at the thought, Camryn pressed harder on the gas and took the curve in the slick, two-lane highway a little faster than she’d intended. The tires hydroplaned, and she fought to keep the BMW from fishtailing into the woods. Fear heated her insides. Her mouth filled with an acrid taste. Exhilaration gunned through her. Aah, what a rush!

She was feeling alive again! She wanted to celebrate. Maybe she’d stop at a convenience store for a wine cooler.

The next curve in the road came quicker than she expected, though, and she veered across the center line. She barely had time to focus on the oncoming headlights before her world spun…and screeched…and rolled…

And ended in thunderous conflagration.

CHAPTER ONE

Terrebonne Parish, Louisiana

July 4

THE CALL CAME during the Fourth of July crawfish boil in his parents’ front yard on the bayou. The cell phone in his shirt pocket rang, and Mitch’s heart paused.

No one but the detective would call him on this phone. The captains and crew members of his shrimp boats didn’t know the number; they always contacted him by the radio he wore on his belt. So did his neighbors on the swamp. It had to be Chuck Arceneaux, the investigator he’d hired. And if the call wasn’t urgent, Chuck would have left a message on his home answering machine.

The adults at the long picnic table fell silent, their gazes shifting to Mitch. They knew the significance of that ringing cell phone. His brawny, apron-clad father turned from the simmering crawfish kettle to watch him in sober expectation. His mother froze in the act of ladling jambalaya from a huge serving bowl, her eyes widening with hope and fear. The children seemed to sense the sudden tension, and all but the youngest of his nieces, nephews and cousins quieted. Even the hot Louisiana breeze seemed to halt its sighing through the willows and moss-draped cypress trees.

Mitch drew the phone from his pocket and answered it.

The investigator’s flat, nasal voice greeted him. “All the dough you’ve been shelling out for those mailers finally paid off, Mitch. We got a possible lead.”

A possible lead. Mitch shut his eyes and clenched his jaw, overcome with relief that the news hadn’t been bad. Immediately following that relief came disappointment that the news hadn’t been better. He’d been praying so damn long for the words I’ve found your daughter. She’s okay. “What kind of lead, Chuck?”

“A man in Florida said he recognized a neighbor from the photos on a mailer. Said she goes by the name Kate Jones. He doesn’t know much more than that about her. I’ve been staked out in front of the house, and a few minutes ago, a blonde stepped out onto the porch. She looks a lot like your wife.”

Mitch grimaced at the term. He’d have preferred “ex-wife,” although it wasn’t technically correct. Camryn had taken off before they’d corrected major glitches in their divorce proceedings. Legally, they were still married—a situation he would remedy the moment he got his daughter back from her and knew that he’d be awarded custody. Full custody, this time. “Does she have a baby with her?”

“Haven’t seen one yet, but I noticed a stroller in the garage.”

Mitch’s blood roared in his ears with a fierce surge of hope. Please, God, let it be Camryn. And let Arianne be with her, safe and sound. “Watch her. Don’t let her out of your sight.”

“This gal ain’t going nowhere without me on her tail.”

“Where are you in Florida?” Mitch demanded, rising from the bench at the picnic table. He couldn’t waste a moment. He had to get there before Camryn ran again.

“Tallahassee. But don’t go off half-cocked. Think about how you want to handle this. You and I know she ran illegally with your kid, but you can’t be sure how another state will deal with custody disputes. The law at home might be on your side, but you don’t have any guarantees outside of Louisiana.”

“That’s why I’m bringing her back. And I’m not about to call the cops, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Mitch knew better than to rely on anyone except himself. Camryn would flash her pretty smile and have the cops falling all over themselves to do her favors before he had a chance to show his joint custody papers. They’d probably arrest him and let her go free—to run with Arianne again.

If she still had Arianne. Mitch refused to put too much stock in the stroller the detective had noticed. Camryn could be staying with someone who had a baby. During her six months on the run, she might have left Arianne with a baby-sitter, or forgotten her outside a casino, or…

Mitch refused to think about the possibilities. The woman had a warped maternal instinct and absolutely no sense of responsibility. He believed she’d taken Arianne from him out of spite for what she considered his “interference” in her life. She’d resented the restraints imposed on her by marriage—as brief as their marriage had been—and even more, the demands of motherhood. She lived for fun and thrills. The risks she took in search of those thrills made Mitch’s muscles clench. What a sap he was! As furious as she made him, he couldn’t keep from worrying about Camryn as well as their daughter.

Their sweet baby daughter. Arianne. He hadn’t seen her in six months. She’d be nine months old by now. Did Camryn still have her? If so, was she taking decent care of her? He couldn’t imagine her taking care of anyone for that long, let alone fulfilling the constant needs of a baby.

Then again, Camryn could do or be anything she set her mind to, at least for a while. She was a chameleon, changing colors to suit her mood or to get her wherever she wanted to go. He hoped her current whims included mothering Arianne.

If only he’d known Camryn before he’d gotten involved with her! But he’d been pretty damn irresponsible himself. He, too, had taken foolhardy risks in search of excitement. Like sleeping with a gorgeous stranger.

But he had to admit, it had been more for him than just thrill seeking. He’d been poleaxed by the sight of her. In that first blinding flash of reaction, he’d been sure she was the woman of his dreams. Her face, her eyes, her voice. Her body. Everything about her seemed so damn right…as if she’d stepped directly from his fantasies, custom-made for him alone. He’d honestly felt that fate had brought him to this one golden moment in time so that he could meet his soul mate. Never before had he been overcome by such a powerful certainty.

And never since.

Her beauty, vivaciousness and fun-loving spirit had kept him flying high through the first couple of weeks of their relationship. But gradually he realized that the deeper, more profound qualities he craved in a life partner simply weren’t there.

She was like flauteau—the lush stretches of Louisiana grass and greenery that looked as solid as earth but were actually nothing more than vegetation floating on the surface of a swamp. A man foolish enough to step onto flauteau would sink beneath the dense foliage into stagnant, muddy water without leaving so much as a trace.

All flash was Camryn, without an inch of solid ground. And now he was drowning in his own foolishness over her.

When she told him she was going to have his baby, he insisted that she marry him. Old-fashioned of him, maybe, but he’d wanted at least the appearance of love for their child’s sake, once she was old enough to understand things like parenthood and marriage.

It turned out that Camryn herself didn’t know much about those things. She carried on a fairly convincing charade of wife and mother for as long as she could, but her true nature soon got the best of her. She craved fun and thrills and self-gratification, and when the conflict with him became too much for her, she filed for divorce. And then left town…before that divorce had been properly finalized…with Arianne. She’d barely been three months old.

And now, as he tried to track Camryn down, he was amazed at how little he knew about her. According to information gleaned from Arianne’s birth certificate, Camryn had been born in Pennsylvania, but his search there proved fruitless. She’d said her parents were dead; he didn’t know if she had any surviving family members. Her maiden name of “Jones” didn’t help much in a computer search; every state in the country had thousands of them.

He hoped to God that he’d finally found her.

Mitch finished his conversation with the detective and returned his cell phone to his pocket, his mind whirling and his heart pounding. He had strategies to plan and preparations to make.

“Mon Dieu! Have they found our Arianne?” His mother’s breathless question and anxious expression jarred him from his thoughts. Every pair of eyes around the table reflected the same deep-seated concern.

“Maybe. I’m about to go find out.” His throat nearly closed with emotion. “I might be bringing her home.”

The prospect awed him. He’d missed her so damn much—holding her, feeding her, making her smile. Watching her bloom into the prettiest little thing he’d ever seen. His daughter. Had she needed him? Had she wondered where he was? Could she possibly even remember him?

His eldest sister whispered a prayer in French and made the sign of the cross. His younger sister hugged him. His father gripped his shoulder in silent support. His brother-in-law insisted on going with him, and everyone else chimed in with offers of help.

A small hand tugged on his shirt. Mitch glanced down at his four-year-old nephew, who stood on the picnic bench, his dark eyes wide with concern. In incredulous tones, he asked, “Are you cwying, Uncle Mitch?”

Mitch blinked back the sheen that had blurred his vision and swallowed against the swelling in his throat. “Nah. Too much hot sauce on my crawfish, that’s all.” He caught the boy to him in a playful hold and scrubbed his knuckles across his head, tousling the dark curls. “You didn’t sprinkle more hot sauce in my jambalaya while I wasn’t looking, did you, Claude?”

Claude giggled and swore that he hadn’t.

Sensing a potential for roughhousing, the little boy’s older cousins sprang from their seats. “I did it, Uncle Mitch! I put more hot sauce in your jambalaya!”

“No, I did!”

“I did.”

Their impish grins and teasing claims eased some of the tightness in Mitch’s throat. Allowing himself the luxury of a moment, he captured as many kids as he could at one time, tickling each one he caught. They shrieked with laughter, scurried around him and mounted their own attack, some leaping onto his back from behind.

Mitch swore to himself that he’d bring his daughter home to join in the fun with her cousins. To dance to her uncle Mazoo’s fiddle. Eat her grand-mère’s jambalaya. Wrap her papa around her little finger.

He’d bring Camryn back here, too—to resolve the legal glitches in their divorce proceedings, and to face the judge who had granted them joint custody. Despite the failed divorce, they were legally separated, and that custody agreement was legal and binding. She’d had no right to leave the state of Louisiana, or to keep his daughter away from him.

Yes, indeed, she would face the judge and pay whatever price he set for violating a court order. Maybe that would stop her from running away with Arianne again.

LATE FRIDAY AFTERNOON, KATE rolled the stroller up to the gate of the clubhouse area just in time to watch parents clamber out of the swimming pool with infants and toddlers in their arms, rivulets of water trickling from matted hair, slick swimsuits and sagging diapers. As everyone headed toward lounge chairs and beach towels, the instructor called out reminders of next week’s class.

Drat. Kate had been hoping to watch at least some of this afternoon’s swim class in session. The walk through the two adjacent subdivisions had taken longer than she’d expected, though. There’d been so many distractions along the way—flowers to sniff, kitties to pet, neighbors to enchant with Arianne’s sunny, drool-shiny smile. And then there was Arianne’s fondness for flinging her toys out of the stroller, just for the fun of having Kate retrieve them. The walk had taken considerably longer than expected.

Which was fine with Kate. It seemed to her that the journey itself was just as important as the destination—and they’d had a lovely journey. Maybe they would watch the swim class next week. At the neighborhood Fourth of July party yesterday, the lifeguard in her own subdivision had recommended this particular instructor for infant swimming lessons. Kate wanted to see for herself what methods the woman used.

She peered at the parents trudging past her toward the parking lot. A few moms and dads were talking and smiling. Others looked exhausted and harried. And…frustrated? Not a good sign.

Kate approached one young mother who had emerged from the pool area with a towel-wrapped infant huddled against her shoulder. Smiling at both the baby and his mother, Kate introduced herself as a resident from the neighboring subdivision. “I’m thinking of enrolling my nine-month-old for swim lessons. Are you happy with the classes so far?”

“Oh, absolutely.” The deeply tanned brunette, who smelled of chlorine and suntan lotion, lovingly towel-dried her son’s reddish, downy-fine curls. “Davey has learned so much in just two months. He can already hold his breath underwater. And he’s only ten months old.” She fairly beamed with pride.

“That’s great. Does he enjoy the lessons?”

“Enjoy them?” She sounded surprised at the question. “Well, actually, he’d rather just play around in the pool with his toys than do what the teacher says. I suppose that’s only to be expected.” A flicker of frustration disrupted her smile. “And for some reason, he resists floating on his back.”

Warning bells sounded in Kate’s head. If any amount of coercion was involved in teaching a baby to swim, the instructor was probably teaching at her pace rather than the baby’s. And, from the articles Kate had read on the subject, she’d learned that back floating was a skill to be explored later in a baby’s progression.

No, she wouldn’t subject Arianne to the stress of these particular lessons. She wanted her to enjoy learning, not shy away from it. She wanted the lessons to be a happy, peaceful time. An opportunity for physical and spiritual enrichment. A chance for her and Arianne to grow closer.

Maybe she should look into mother-baby yoga lessons, instead. “Thanks for the information,” Kate said. “I think I’ll wait another month or so before I sign Arianne up for swim lessons, though. You know, I’ve read some highly informative articles about infant swim lessons on the Internet.”

“Really?”

Unable to resist the chance to save Davey from distressful lessons that might negatively affect his attitude toward learning, Kate told the woman how to find the articles she’d read.

Arianne, meanwhile, dropped the teething ring she’d been gnawing on, emitted a joyous squeal and pointed a stubby little finger at the pool. “Fwim!” Shifting her bright brown eyes to Kate, she repeated, “Fwim?”

Kate smiled at her with all the pride, warmth and tenderness brimming in her heart. Only nine months old, and she could already say fwim. She clearly had genius potential. “No, sweetie. We can’t swim today. Tomorrow, maybe. In our own pool.”

Arianne returned a still-hopeful gaze to the pool. Kate pulled a small foil-wrapped pack from her purse, knelt beside the stroller and distracted the little brown-eyed blonde with a teething biscuit.

Davey’s mother shifted her towel-swathed son to her other hip and smiled at Arianne. To Kate, she said, “She’s adorable. And she looks so much like you. You couldn’t deny she’s yours even if you wanted to.”

Kate felt her smile falter. Couldn’t deny she’s yours. If only that were true. “Thanks. I…I guess I’d better head back home. It’s quite a walk.” After wishing the woman luck with Davey’s lessons, Kate wheeled the stroller toward the sidewalk.

And tried not to let the innocent remark hurt too much. Hard to do, though, when the wound was still so raw. Because regardless of the fact that Arianne resembled her—same honey-blond hair, same brown eyes, even the same little cleft in her chin—she wasn’t Kate’s. Not biologically, or even legally, as of yet.

Her real mother had been killed.

Camryn.

A bittersweet pang went through Kate, as it always did when she thought of her sister. Then the grief set in. She was gone—her glamorous, high-flying rebel of a twin who had vexed her, angered her, worried her sick, but always brought tales of wild urban adventures that made Kate’s own life seem boring in comparison. Camryn had been a dreamer, outrageously self-centered and as flighty as a kite in a high wind. She’d always gravitated toward the wrong crowd, set her sights on impractical goals and gone about reaching them in the hardest possible way. They’d argued more often than they’d laughed together, but her rare visits had added a certain zest to Kate’s workaday life. There would be no more surprise-packed visits from out of the blue.

After six months, the grief had only begun to mellow.

At least she still had Arianne. A simple glance at her niece filled her with warm, comforting love…as well as concern. It had taken Kate more than five months—until last Friday, to be exact—to ask a lawyer about adoption proceedings. Because Arianne’s father presented an unknown variable, she’d felt she had too much to risk by bringing Arianne to the attention of the courts.

Government bureaucracies always worried her. The Department of Family and Children Services had ruled her and Camryn’s lives from the age of five—when they lost their parents in an automobile accident—until the day they turned eighteen. As humiliating and dehumanizing as that experience had been, they’d actually fared better than many of the children trapped within that frightening system. At least Cam and she had had each other.

Now Kate hesitated to contact the authorities for fear that some obscure regulation would result in their taking Arianne away from her. She shuddered to think of her dear little niece at the mercy of the heartless court system. Kate swore that Arianne would be raised by her— not shuffled around between foster homes or dumped into an orphanage, as Camryn and she had been.

But Kate knew she couldn’t simply keep Arianne indefinitely. Too many questions would be asked—by doctors, school officials and the like. Kate believed in building a strong, unshakable foundation on which to base one’s life. That foundation was a person’s only real security. Arianne’s foundation would require the paperwork that made her a legal citizen of the United States and Kate’s legally-adopted daughter. Neither status was readily available without Arianne’s birth certificate.

Her lawyer had warned her, too, that an adoption would be difficult without permission from Arianne’s father. And Kate had no idea who he was or where he lived. She had no record of Arianne’s birth, where she was born or even what her legal last name was.

“Isn’t there a way around the red tape?” Kate had asked. “My sister told me Arianne’s father doesn’t want her. Even if we somehow learn his name, I doubt that we’ll find him. Knowing the kind of men my sister was involved with, he’s probably a drifter, or on the run from the law.”

Although the attorney foresaw dozens of obstacles, he promised to delve into the matter as quickly and discreetly as possible.

For the umpteenth time, Kate fervently wished she’d gotten more details from Camryn about her ex-husband. Unfortunately, Camryn hadn’t wanted to talk about him. All she’d told her was that his name was Mitch, he didn’t want a wife or daughter and he’d been “mean.”

“Abusive?” Kate had asked, horrified.

“Very,” Camryn had confirmed in a choked whisper.

Kate had tried to pry more information from her, but to no avail. The very idea of a man abusing her sister and niece infuriated Kate. In order to get to sleep that night, she had to remind herself that in Camryn’s mind, “abusive” could cover anything from physical battery to a refusal to fly her to Tahiti. She had seemed extremely upset at the very mention of this man’s existence, though.

Then again, Camryn had closed the subject of her ex-husband with a sigh. “I don’t know why I married him in the first place. I guess I’m just a sucker for a big, strong male body and sexy golden-green eyes.” An odd wistfulness had crossed her face. “And he does have the sexiest eyes.”

Ah, Camryn! There’d been times when Kate had wanted to shake her.

If only she’d shaken some information loose from her that night. But Camryn had been too exhausted to chat for long. She fell asleep within an hour. Kate, on the other hand, spent half the night reeling from the news that her twin had married again, given birth and divorced since they’d last spoken. She mulled over those developments while walking the floor with Arianne, who’d been wretchedly suffering from teething woes.

Kate hadn’t handled a baby in years, but her vast experience from growing up in the Tallahassee Methodist Children’s Home came in handy that night…and ever since.

It had been so typical of Camryn, dropping in unexpectedly after eighteen months without contact and blindly assuming that Kate would baby-sit for weeks at a time. She’d also stolen her car, leaving nothing but a mechanically challenged convertible and a brief note that thanked Kate in advance for keeping Arianne while Camryn went to New York to get them roles in a soap opera.

Oh, Cam.

The call had come less than an hour after Kate had read the note. The highway patrol contacted her from the number listed on the car’s registration. Looking back, Kate was glad that Camryn had taken her car, or Kate might never have known what had become of her twin. Whatever identification papers she’d carried had gone up in flames. The head-on collision had rated only a brief mention on the evening news, without names or pictures of the deceased.

Grief, regret and a terrible sense of loss haunted Kate, especially in the oppressive silence of night. During the day, she kept herself busy tending her motherless niece. Despite the financial strain and interruption to her career, Kate had taken the spring and summer semesters off from teaching to spend time with Arianne during these formative months of her life.

Kate had lost her twin after failing her in some fundamental way long ago. She couldn’t remember a time she hadn’t felt vaguely guilty over Camryn’s emotional neediness. She should have tried harder to take her parents’ place in Camryn’s life; to supply more of the love she’d so clearly needed. Until the day she died in that fiery wreck, Camryn had been desperately searching for validation of her own worth…and always in the wrong places….

Kate swore she wouldn’t allow Arianne to travel the same path. Bright, beautiful Arianne would remain her top priority from now on.

Kate felt only pleasure at the prospect. The baby filled a void in her heart that she hadn’t known existed. She brought sweetness and warmth to her home and a deeper meaning to her life. Kate loved her more intensely with every passing day.

I’ll take good care of her, Cam. I won’t let you down again.

As she turned a corner into her own subdivision, clouds drifted across the late-afternoon sun, throwing the suburban Tallahassee street into momentary shade. She savored the respite from the July heat and pushed the stroller past neat lawns and brick homes toward her own modest ranch-style house.

By the time she reached the welcoming shadows inside her attached garage, Arianne was snoozing. Kate parked the stroller alongside the red Mustang convertible Camryn had left, ignoring the grief the sight of the car induced. Drawing the house key from a pocket of her khaki shorts, she turned to unlock the door.

A form loomed up from behind her. Before she could react, a hard hand came down over her mouth and jerked her backward against a large, solidly muscular body.

“Hello, Camryn,” a gruff voice rasped in her ear. “Long time no see.”

CHAPTER TWO

FEAR PARALYZED KATE into absolute stillness. Her assailant thought she was Camryn.

At the sound of footsteps behind her and a muffled murmur, she realized he wasn’t alone. Though he’d greeted her in perfect English, he rattled off some brusque instructions to his accomplice in a language sounding like French. The only word she recognized meant “baby.”

She tried to cry out, but the sound barely escaped the callused hand he’d clamped over her mouth. Dread slowed her heartbeats to a near standstill. Arianne was sleeping in the stroller behind her. God, please don’t let them take Arianne!

With the key Kate had inserted in the lock, the man opened the door. His hand still covering her mouth, he nudged her inside.

Fear hammered through her. What did this stranger want with her—or rather, with her sister? Was he a jilted lover? Or maybe a psychotic fan from one of the bars where she’d performed. Or a bookie. A loan shark. Camryn may have owed him money. Stories of brutality flashed through Kate’s mind, terrifying her.

With steellike strength, her assailant swept her down the short hallway and into the kitchen, where she looked for something to use as a weapon. Not a knife, fork, glass or bottle was anywhere in sight. The wall telephone hung a few feet away. If only she could get to it long enough to dial.

He dropped his hand from her mouth, gripped her shoulders, turned her around and pushed her down into a kitchen chair. Bracing his hands on its carved wooden arms, he leaned in close. “Don’t even think about getting up. You’re not going anywhere until I tell you to.”

His lean, sun-browned face blazed with frightening anger. But it was his eyes that held her riveted—a vibrant, golden green, shocking in the ruggedness of his face. A memory stirred. Sexy green eyes… Her absolute terror pushed the memory beyond her reach.

He straightened to his full, imposing height, his fists on his hips, a threat in every tensed, muscled contour of his body. “Don’t look so stunned to see me. You had to know I’d find you.” His deep, rough voice held a hint of an accent she couldn’t quite place. His thick hair shone in tawny waves, the color of a lion’s mane, with his skin glowing slightly darker. From the sweep of his arrogant forehead to the long, clean line of his jaw, she saw no weakness in his face…only uncompromising strength and hardness. “I wouldn’t have stopped looking, Camryn. Ever.”

“You have the wrong person,” Kate managed to whisper. “I’m not Camryn.”

A harsh laugh tore from him. “And I suppose the baby isn’t Arianne.”

He knew Arianne. Fear engulfed Kate. “What do you want?”

“I want what’s mine.”

His deadly soft answer frightened her all the more. A terrible suspicion dawned. “And what,” she asked haltingly, “do you consider yours?”

Grim humor glinted briefly in his gaze, surprising her. “Don’t worry, chèr’. Not you.” The humor quickly vanished, leaving his expression granite cold. “I meant my daughter.”

The world tilted crazily around Kate. He had to be Mitch. Arianne’s father. The man whom Camryn had called “mean.” And he’d come to take Arianne.

Kate rose from the chair in a horrified daze. “You can’t take her. I won’t let you.”

Anger flushed beneath his tan. “The judge granted us joint custody. Joint! You had no right to run with her.”

She shrank back from his fury, his thunderous words ringing in her head. Joint custody. No right to run with her. Could it be true?

“I’ve spent a fortune to track you down, Camryn. Nice try with the name change, Kate—” he uttered the name with scorn “—but the game is up. I’m taking Arianne.”

“No, no, please,” she whispered, her thoughts in a whirl. What he claimed might be true, or might not be. She knew nothing about him. Not even his last name. She couldn’t let this stranger take the baby—especially not before she’d checked out his story. “Give me time….”

“You’ve had her long enough. It’s my turn now.”

Panic pressed in on her as she realized her own weak legal position. If he was the baby’s father and had been granted custody, she’d have no legal claim on Arianne…or not much of one.

But he’d said that Camryn had the right to joint custody.

And he didn’t know Camryn was dead.

“You can’t just take her like this. She doesn’t know you,” Kate told him, reasoning with a frantic urgency. “She’ll be frightened. She needs me.”

“She’s my daughter, and she doesn’t know me. Whose fault is that?” His eyes blazed; his mouth pulled taut. “I’m taking her. And I’m suing for full custody.”

Kate’s lips parted, but no sound emerged. She shook her head in protest, her vision clouding with a sudden blur. Every maternal instinct in her cried out against handing her sweet baby girl over to this angry stranger. Where would he take her? Why did he want her? Again she remembered Camryn’s claim that he’d been violent. He certainly seemed to be, the way he’d forced his way into her home and manhandled her. She had to think. Think!

She forced words through her clenched throat. “Let me bring her in now for supper. She’ll be hungry.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve packed plenty of provisions for her.”

Her panic escalated. “I’m bringing her in.” She made a move to brush past him.

He caught her by the shoulders. “She’s not there anymore.”

Her eyes widened; her heart slowed. “What do you mean?”

“She’s with…friends. Until I can join them.”

When the news sank in, Kate cried out in pain and beat against his chest with fists to free herself from his grip. “Let me go! I’ve got to stop them. I can’t let them take her like that.”

He caught her fists, forced her arms behind her back and held her against his chest. When her struggles proved fruitless, she closed her eyes and swallowed a hysterical sob. In pained disbelief, she murmured, “You didn’t even let me tell her goodbye.”

“Did you let me tell her goodbye before you ran with her?”

Easing out of his loosened grasp, she refused to feel empathy for him. Camryn obviously had had good reason to run. Violence simmered beneath his surface like a pot about to boil over. She’d felt it in his grip, heard it in his voice, seen it in his gaze. “She isn’t ready to leave home right now. She won’t have any of her clothes or her toys.” At a sudden remembrance, an ache went through her. “She won’t even have her blanket.”

“Her blanket? I have blankets. Plenty of blankets.”

“But you don’t have hers!” she shouted, glaring at him. “You don’t care that she needs it to fall asleep at night, do you.” Her lips trembled. She bit down on them, then added, “She holds it against her cheek and sucks her thumb.” Though she tried to suppress the tears, they seeped from the outside corners of her eyes. She buried her face in her hands and succumbed to quiet sobs.

He shook her and issued a curt order. “That’s enough. Stop the crying.”

She sucked in her breath, sobs and all. Her chin came up, and her bottom lip tightened. The man was heartless. He was tearing a baby away from the only home she’d ever known, without any preparation at all.

“Go get her blanket,” he said.

Stiffly she turned from him, and he followed her to the bedroom she had decorated as a nursery, with yellow walls, bright rainbows and teddy bears. The sight of the nursery now choked her with new tears, but she mastered them. The effort grew more difficult when she found the small patchwork blanket Arianne called her “bankie.” Reverently Kate lifted it from the crib, savoring the softness and the subtle baby scent that clung to it. How could she live without Arianne?

“Here it is.” Kate thrust it at him. “When she cries for her bankie,” she finished on a whisper, “this is what she wants.”

He took it and met her gaze. She saw only cold determination there. “Pack the rest of her things. Anything she might want.”

She’d never met a man as cold and unfeeling. He looked so foreign and invasive in the cozy nursery—huge, hard and forbidding. She sensed a hair-trigger readiness about him, and knew that if she made one wrong move, he’d grab her.

She had to come up with a plan. She couldn’t let this hateful stranger carry her niece off to an unknown future. Yet what could she do? She had no idea where he’d sent Arianne. She had no idea where he lived.

If he disappeared now, she might never find Arianne again.

Should she tell him she wasn’t Camryn—that her twin had died? Perhaps his attitude would soften, and he’d handle the matter with compassion and reason. Then again, he might simply leave, glad to be rid of Camryn once and for all.

She couldn’t let him go until she knew more.

“I’ll have to get a suitcase to pack her things,” Kate told him, stalling for time. She couldn’t very well ask his name or where he lived without alerting him to the fact that she wasn’t Camryn.

“Where do you keep your suitcases?” he asked.

“The hall closet.”

“Lead the way.” He trailed her to the closet and watched as she pulled out a sturdy gray suitcase. “Pack one with Arianne’s things, and another for yourself.”

She glanced at him in surprise as hope surged through her. Had she convinced him that Arianne needed her, at least temporarily? “You’re letting me come?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am. In fact, I insist you do. You see, we have a date with a certain judge, you and I.”

“A judge?” She frowned, perplexed. “In court? About…custody?”

He gave a dry, humorless laugh. “Custody will damn sure be on the agenda, along with other issues. Like divorce.”

“Divorce?”

“You left before ours was final. And guess what? Turns out the attorney you hired hadn’t even passed the bar yet. He had no authority to act on your behalf. Nothing he handled was valid.”

Kate stared at him in sick dismay. Camryn hadn’t been divorced. Which meant…oh, God…this man was her husband. And he now believed her to be his wife!

The nightmare just grew worse and worse.

Camryn must have been in a terrible panic to get away from him if she hadn’t even waited for the divorce to be finalized. Foreboding coursed through Kate. Was she placing herself in danger by going with him?

Maybe she’d be wiser to tell him her true identity, and that Camryn was dead. But if she did, he might simply leave, and she’d have a hell of a time finding Arianne. He could easily disappear without ever telling her where he lived, or how to contact him. She might never see her niece again.

She couldn’t allow that! Her sister had run away from this cold, heartless husband of hers. Kate would not willingly relinquish Arianne to him. If that meant impersonating her sister until she came up with a better plan, she’d do it. God help her!

She drew two suitcases from the hall closet.

He nodded curtly toward the nursery. “Go pack.”

In seething silence, Kate carried the suitcases to the nursery and packed one of them full of Arianne’s clothes and toys. He watched her every move. When she’d finished, she moved on to her own bedroom, with her captor following closely. She set the empty suitcase on the bed and opened it, eyeing the telephone on the bedside table.

Even if she could get to the phone, who could she call? If she notified the police, Mitch would probably vanish rather than face possible complications. She had to stay with him at least until she discovered his last name, where he lived and where he’d sent Arianne. A telephone would do her no good now.

“Don’t reach for that phone, Camryn,” he warned, his perceptive gaze on her as he eased his tall form into an armchair near the door.

The threat was only implied, but she didn’t doubt that he’d physically overpower her again. Remembering the awesome strength she’d felt coiled in his muscled body when he’d trapped her against his chest, she knew he’d have no problem brutalizing men much bigger than him—possibly several of them at a time—let alone one weaponless woman.

His stare alone frightened her. It seemed to have a disarming power of its own….

She looked away, pierced with a sudden, uncomfortable awareness of him as a man and the suggestive intimacy of the setting. Her bedroom. He believed her to be his wife—a woman he had once loved. At the very least, in the physical sense.

Flustered, she turned to the dresser drawer she had opened, anxious to finish her packing. Hurriedly she tossed jeans, shorts and tops into her suitcase. She then pulled open another drawer, and paused. Self-conscious warmth seeped beneath her skin. Calling herself a fool, she tried to ignore his infernal presence as she packed her panties and bras.

“Are those yours?”

The surprise in his question drew her glance back to him, then down to the cotton, pastel-hued underwear she’d just placed in the suitcase. The warmth in her face intensified. “Who else’s would they be?”

He lifted one brow. “No black satin or red lace? Your taste in lingerie has, uh, changed.”

“That’s none of your business.”

He almost smiled. “Amen.”

Pursing her mouth, she shoved her underwear beneath the other clothing in her suitcase. She’d never bought the sexy kind of underwear Camryn had favored. Kate preferred the comfort of cotton to lace. Besides, who ever saw her in her underwear, anyway? Her work and her studies—and then Arianne—had dominated her time. She hadn’t had a steady man in her life since her undergrad days.

Though she didn’t care at all what this big rude lug thought of her, his comment had made her feel frumpy. In self-defense—and maybe to extinguish the mild amusement she seemed to have afforded him—she coolly remarked, “I try to please whatever man I’m currently involved with.”

“Since when?”

She raised her brow at the chiding retort. He apparently didn’t believe that Camryn had tried to please him. Kate was glad her sister hadn’t wasted her time. She doubted there would have been much reward in the venture—other than, perhaps, in a strictly physical sense. That thought, however, brought to mind the possible physical rewards a man as blatantly virile as Mitch might confer upon a women…a subject she certainly didn’t want to think about.

Abruptly she averted her gaze from him and continued packing.

“I hope whatever fool you’re dating is the patient type, for his sake,” Mitch said in a pleasant tone. “You’re going to be gone for a while.”

Kate halted in her work and frowned. “How long of a while?”

“A week or two…possibly longer, depending on what the judge decides.”

Her stomach tightened with anxiety. Mitch clearly had every confidence that the court proceedings would go his way. “Where exactly are we going?”

“To the judge who married us, finalized our separation and granted us joint custody.” He hadn’t, of course, answered her question, although he probably thought he had.

“I have to tell certain people I’ll be gone, or they’ll worry.”

“Too bad you didn’t think of that when you ran away with my daughter. You just disappeared.” He leaned forward, his arms resting across his knees. “I wouldn’t trust you to call anyone, Camryn, so you’re going to just disappear again. Shouldn’t surprise anyone who knows you. You can spin whatever crazy tale you’d like when you get back.”

Resentful at the control he had over her, Kate flung more clothes and a pair of shoes into the suitcase. In actuality, there wouldn’t be many people who would miss her. Her parents had been dead since she was five years old, and she had no close relations left. She supposed that her neighbors might get curious about her extended absence, her friends might wonder where she was and her lawyer might leave messages on her answering machine, but no one would raise an alarm. She’d taken a leave from work, which meant co-workers wouldn’t note her absence. She was entirely on her own. A sobering thought. She could disappear from the face of the earth and very few people would notice.

She stalked to her closet and rifled through her dresses and suits, looking for just the right one to wear into a courtroom.

“Don’t tell me those are yours, too.”

She jumped at the low, gravelly voice that came from right behind her. She hadn’t heard him move from the chair, but now he stood peering over her shoulder at the neatly hanging garments in her closet. She understood his comment perfectly. She doubted that Camryn had ever worn a tailored suit or conservative dress in her life. Kate affected a nonchalant shrug. “So my tastes have changed.”

He let out a laugh and wedged a broad shoulder against the wall beside her closet. “I get it now. The puzzle pieces are beginning to fit. You’ve got some rich fool believing you’re a real prim and proper Miss Priss.”

“Miss Priss!”

“With your practical underwear, your tailored suits, your hair all pinned and braided.” He slipped his thumbs into his pockets and ambled across her room, nodding at the shelves that lined one side. “Leather-bound books in your bedroom, a piano in your living room.” He looked genuinely amused. “So your new man’s fallen for it, has he? Obviously so, since he must be paying the bills.”

Jamming her balled-up knuckles onto her hips, Kate cast him a withering stare. How she hated his implication that Camryn had been living with a man for his money! “How do you know I haven’t worked for everything I have?”

“Come on, Cam. Even if you worked long enough to earn a little cash—which is doubtful, since you’ve only been gone for six months—money slips through your fingers like water.”

He clearly thought very little of Camryn. The fact that he was basically right about her character did little to ease Kate’s resentment. “Maybe I got financial help from my—” She stopped on the verge of saying sister. Did Mitch know that Camryn had a sister? If so, he clearly wasn’t aware that they were identical twins. Perhaps it was better not to mention anything about sisters. Prudently, she finished with “My family.”

“You told me you didn’t have family.”

A surprising pain accosted Kate. So Camryn hadn’t acknowledged her existence at all. Pushing the pain aside out of pure necessity, she pursed her lips as if she’d been caught in a fib. “Okay, so maybe I don’t have any blood relations. But I do have people who care about me enough to extend a loan.”

“Maybe so. Maybe you borrowed the money to feather your elegant new nest. Won’t your new boyfriend be surprised when your true colors shine through?”

“You know nothing about my life now. Nothing.”

His lips curved in mock appreciation. “You’re good, Camryn. You’re really good. I like your lady-of-the-manor act. I like your upscale clothes, and your sophisticated new look.” He stopped beside her, leaned in too close and inhaled deeply. “And your expensive new perfume.” His nearness sent a frisson of awareness through her bloodstream. “I even like your smooth new way of walking.” His gaze roamed her face. “It’s all very effective,” he whispered. The odd intensity in his golden-green eyes suddenly cooled, leaving only contempt. “But you can drop the act with me, chèr’. It won’t do you any good. In case you’ve forgotten, I caught the last show.”

Thoroughly shaken, Kate drew back from him and gripped the edge of the dresser for support. Her hand itched to slap him. He’d invaded her personal space in a way no one ever had; in a way that disturbed her just as much as his earlier manhandling. She would resist the urge to slap him, though. He might kill her. Or, he might leave. Then what would the future hold for Arianne?

Only one thing Kate knew for sure—she needed more information.

She’d play the role he’d cast her in until she got it. And if, along the way, she discovered that this hot-tempered, hard-eyed man was indeed violent or emotionally cruel—“mean,” as Camryn had described him—she wouldn’t hesitate to take whatever steps were necessary to protect her niece.

Even if that meant running with her.

“I’m ready to go,” she muttered between clenched teeth, her hands still gripping the edge of the dresser behind her, “whenever you are.”

“Good.” With a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes, he again leaned in too close. “Then let me make it official. I’m placing you under citizen’s arrest.” From behind her came a click-click sound, and cold metal encircled her wrists. “For the crime of kidnapping.”

She jerked her arms, found them bound together and stared at him in horrified surprise. He’d reached behind her and handcuffed her!

“Kidnapping,” she repeated in panicked disbelief. “You’re charging me with kidnapping?”

“It was against custody orders for you to take Arianne out of state…which you well know. Not to mention the six months you kept her away from me.”

Alarm buzzed in Kate’s head. Could she, as the baby’s aunt, be charged with kidnapping, or accessory to kidnapping? She didn’t believe so, but she didn’t know much about kidnapping laws. “If you really think I kidnapped her, why don’t you just call the police, here and now?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? All you’d have to say is that it’s your turn to keep the baby, and I’d be the one forced to prove otherwise. By the time they got the mess straightened out, you’d be long gone.” He shook his head. “No, chèr’. The only place I know I’ll get justice is in my neck of the woods.”

His neck of the woods. Where, exactly, was that? From his use of the word chèr’, she guessed Louisiana…but she couldn’t be sure. Cajun communities in Texas, Mississippi, even South Carolina and California, also used the term. She certainly couldn’t ask him where he was from. If she was Camryn, she’d know.

Kate stiffened in fury as he gripped her arm and forced her into step beside him. He seemed pretty darn sure of himself. Maybe she’d tell the authorities her real name and charge him with kidnapping her! Perhaps then she’d be granted custody of Arianne.

“Don’t worry about your suitcases,” he said. “I’ll send my driver in to get them once I have you situated in the van.”

Situated? In a van? She didn’t like the sound of that.

“Oh, and just in case you’re planning on screaming when we step outside,” he murmured, settling his palm against her nape, “all I have to do is apply the right amount of pressure here—” his thumb pressed into the sensitive indentation near her hairline “—to render you unconscious. You’d then have to make the entire trip bound and gagged.” His hand remained cupped around her nape, making her all the more aware of his strength and heat and male toughness. “The choice is yours, chèr’.”

She couldn’t wait to have him thrown in jail for kidnapping her…and to get full, permanent custody of Arianne.

Assuming, of course, he really did intend to hand her over to the authorities. As he ushered her out the door, through the garage and into the back of a van with heavily tinted windows, her hands in cuffs and her neck encircled by that strong, ruthless hand, Kate began to have her doubts about that. If he hated Camryn enough, a man like him might simply murder her.

She wouldn’t give in to the steadily mounting fear, though. She couldn’t afford the luxury of cowardice.

Arianne needed her.

CHAPTER THREE

SHE’D NEVER BEEN a prisoner before. She was definitely one now.

Mitch had escorted her to the rear bench seat in a maroon passenger van parked just outside her garage. The van’s tinted windows stopped outsiders from seeing in…which, of course, prevented the prisoner inside from signaling for help. The handcuffs binding her wrists behind her back also greatly curtailed her chances of attracting attention.

A dull sense of fear throbbed through her like a toothache.

He settled in beside her, blocking her access to the door. Dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans that emphasized the musculature of his chest, arms and thighs, he gave the impression of immense, ruthless power barely contained. He sat close enough for Kate to feel the heat from his sinewy arm, and she shifted as far away from him as possible in the suddenly tight confines of the back seat.

“Are these handcuffs really necessary?” she asked. “How on earth do you think I could possibly escape?”

“I wouldn’t put anything past you, Cam,” he murmured.

She bit back words of protest, afraid that if she didn’t, he’d gag her.

The driver, a dark, burly man wearing a black sports cap, a sleeveless green muscle shirt and tattoos on his impressive biceps, drove the van west from Tallahassee on I-10. Kate wondered how long the ride would be. And if she would survive it.

She truly was at the mercy of these men.

Mitch distracted her from her growing fear by reaching over the seat for her purse, which his cohort had carried to the van along with her luggage. As Mitch rifled through the contents of her suede handbag, she held her breath.

Her goal of reclaiming Arianne could very well depend on her impersonation of Camryn. The identification cards in her wallet would give her away. Although she could explain away the driver’s license in the name of Kathryn Jones by saying she’d applied for it under her alias, its date of issue was nearly a year ago. If Mitch noticed the date, he’d realize that Camryn couldn’t have been in Tallahassee at that time.

Another problem was the campus identification card naming her as Kathryn Jones, Ph.D., professor of history, Florida State University. Why would Camryn have gone to the trouble of manufacturing that?

Kate breathed freely again only when her captor nudged aside her wallet and pulled out, instead, a small container of pepper spray. She’d actually forgotten about that neat little defensive weapon. Since she had no intention of escaping before she discovered who he was, where he lived and where he’d sent Arianne, she hadn’t concentrated on arming herself.

“Put this up for safekeeping, Darryl.” He tossed the pepper spray to his driver, who caught it without taking his eyes from the road. “Wouldn’t want my sweet bride bringing more tears to my eyes, would I?”

His sweet bride. The sarcasm was heavy in his otherwise light tone. Was he angry, not only because Camryn had taken the baby, but because she’d left him?

After latching the purse closed, he tossed it behind the seats, where they’d stored her luggage. Kate gave silent thanks that he hadn’t examined her identification cards and unmasked her as an imposter. He probably would have dropped her off on the side of the road, leaving her no means of tracking Arianne. Unless, of course, she caught the license-plate number of the van—a feat she hadn’t managed when he’d hurried her into the vehicle. But even a tag number didn’t assure success of tracking down a determined person. For all she knew, the van could be stolen, or rented under a false name.

She made a mental note, though, to check the tag number at the first chance, as well as dispose of her identification cards, if those opportunities ever arose.

Her captor leaned forward and folded down the seat in front of them into a low bench. He then lounged back in his seat, extended his long legs across the bench and rested his arm along the back of her seat. The pose brought him even closer to her, while his vivid green gaze locked with hers. “So, tell me…why did you run with Arianne? And what have you been doing since you left? I’d like to know what kind of life my daughter has been leading.”

Although he spoke softly, there was no mistaking his anger. Would something she’d say provoke him to violence? Her fear intensified. She was afraid to answer, yet afraid to remain silent.

Her drumming pulse and sweating palms brought back memories of childhood terror: late-night visits at the girls’ dorm from a staff member in the children’s home who talked gently, then lashed out with his belt…brutally, repeatedly, in a frenzied rage. He’d been fired when the girls had built up the collective nerve to report him—and he’d never applied that horrifying strap to Kate or Camryn—but the fear itself had scarred them both.

Kate would always be wary of quiet-talking, angry men.

“Well?” His tawny brows drew together in an impatient frown. “What have you been doing with Arianne?”

The very depth of her fear tripped some internal switch of Kate’s. Imprisoned though she was, she wouldn’t give in to the terror. She had to fight as she always had—by keeping in mind who she was and where she intended to go in life. She was no longer a helpless, parentless child in a world controlled by strangers, but a respected member of her community, a well-esteemed educator, whose word in court would carry considerable weight. She would fight her fear by keeping her wits about her, by using those wits against her captor until she knew enough about him to be sure of finding Arianne.

Straightening her spine, she gazed at him in her most quelling manner, the one that set wayward students to stuttering. “First you tell me…where have you sent Arianne?”

He stared at her in some surprise. Had he frightened Camryn so badly that she’d stopped talking back to him? Afraid that it might be so, Kate braced herself for a physical blow.

“You don’t need to know where she is,” he finally replied, his tone curt now rather than soft.

“Then you don’t need to know where she’s been.”

A muscle flexed in his lean jaw, but he remained exactly as he’d been, in a deceptively casual pose with his arm resting on the back of her seat. The silence spun out into a long, tense standoff.

“If you really care about her, though,” Kate added, “you do need to be aware of her dietary requirements.”

“Dietary requirements?” he repeated in blank amazement, as if he’d never heard the term but found it fascinating.

“It means there are certain foods she can’t—”

“I know what it means. I’m just surprised you do.” His eyes had narrowed on her in a searching look that told her he hadn’t meant the retort as an insult; he clearly was surprised that she’d used the term.

She saw then what she’d missed before—the keen intelligence in his eyes. Its magnitude startled her. She’d assumed that he, like the other men in Camryn’s life, had more brawn than brains.

He was absolutely right. Camryn wouldn’t have worded the concept quite that way. In fact, she probably wouldn’t have given the subject itself more than a passing thought.

Kate compressed her lips in self-annoyance. To succeed in this impersonation, she’d have to stay in character. “I’m just telling you what the doctor said. Arianne has digestive prob—uh, stomachaches when she eats the wrong foods. It took a while, but we figured out the ones she can and can’t eat.”

“Like what?”

At least he’d bought the explanation, it seemed. Which had, after all, been true. Now she had to concentrate on finding clues to who was keeping the baby. Anxiety over Arianne’s welfare clawed at her insides. “I’d rather talk to whoever is taking care of her.”

“You’ll speak to me. No one else.”

She shrugged, glanced away and adopted Camryn’s most vacuous look. She hoped he couldn’t detect the concern radiating from her heart like solar power.

“What can’t she eat, Camryn?” Annoyance resounded in his deep, gruff voice.

She pursed her lips in the provocative way Camryn would to signify a secret she was keeping.

His jaw shifted; his gaze hardened. Perhaps he did care about Arianne, in his own twisted way. He probably viewed her as a prized possession—a trophy in his war with Camryn.

Kate wondered if he would resort to violence now. She’d sensed his temper rising.

After a long, disgruntled stare, though, he drew a cell phone from his pocket and punched in a number. His tone, when he spoke, was brusque. “How is she?”

Kate watched as he listened, her heart picking up speed. She desperately wanted to know the answer to that question. His rugged, angular face gave nothing away. She envisioned gangsterlike characters dealing with her sweet, frightened baby. She prayed that they’d be gentle. Caring. Competent…please, God…

“Have you fed her yet?” he asked into the phone.

Kate strained to hear the reply. She thought she heard peals of distress. Like a baby crying…Mama-Mama!

Her restraint broke, and she turned to Mitch imploringly. “Please bring her to me! She won’t understand why I’m not there. Seeing only strangers will scare her.”

“You’re not getting your hands on her again.”

“You don’t really care about her at all, do you? If she’s given milk-based formula, she’ll get sick. She’ll be in misery all night.”

“Don’t give her milk,” he uttered into the phone.

“Soy-based formula,” she stressed, and emphatically named a particular brand. “And no baby foods with spices, preservatives or added sugar. I feed her only fresh fruits and vegetables that I puree myself.” Her throat cramped; her eyes misted. “She likes sweet potatoes, and…c-carrots.” Turning her face away from him, she croaked in a half whisper, “And pears.”

Determinedly she fought against the tears. She would not cry in front of him.

“Sweet potatoes, carrots and pears,” he repeated into the phone. “And fix ’em yourself. You know—with a blender.” After a moment, he continued, “Of course you’ll have to wait till you get home to do that. Until then, give her soy formula and, uh, crackers or something. Without salt or preservatives. I’m counting on you, Joey.”

Joey. Mitch’s accomplice was named Joey. Whoever he was, she couldn’t imagine him caring for the baby with the same nurturing tenderness that she herself would. She hated to imagine anything less. Anguished, she stared out the window at the blur of roadside forest whizzing by.

After he’d ended his conversation with the mysterious Joey, Mitch muttered, “Now you know how I felt for six whole months.”

She refused to believe him. He had no heart.

“But then, this is probably just another grand performance of yours to win my sympathy,” he said. “Don’t waste your time. I’m not about to let you go, or give you access to my daughter.”

Horrible man!

“If you really cared about her,” he continued, “you wouldn’t have deprived her of a father, grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins.”

Kate tightened her lips in dismay. Grandparents, aunt, uncles, cousins? She’d never considered the possibility that Mitch had a family. It somehow made him seem more human. It also triggered an age-old response in her that she couldn’t help—envy. A family with parents and siblings was, to her, an unattainable dream.

She had to remind herself that the simple fact of having a family didn’t make this man a worthy father. He’d forced his way into her home. Kidnapped her. Kept her in chains. She had no trouble believing he’d abused Camryn and the baby.

If he had, he’d deserved every miserable minute of his six months’ worth of anxiety. Assuming, of course, that he’d felt any. This kidnapping could just as easily stem from a sick desire to control his wife.

And as far as his family went, they were probably at the root of his antisocial behavior. She’d do everything she could to get Arianne away from him. As soon as she figured out how. She had to think, think, think!

The first logical step would be to learn his full name and where he lived. A peek at his driver’s license would certainly help. Could she possibly lift his wallet? She’d never tried to pick a pocket before.

And she couldn’t try now with her hands cuffed.

She shifted a tentative gaze to him. Her heart accelerated as their gazes locked. “I, um, don’t mean to complain, but…uh…these handcuffs are getting uncomfortable.”

He didn’t look in the least sympathetic. But after a tense, silent moment, he shifted in his seat, drew a small key from his jeans pocket and reached around her. The heat of his nearness, the surprising appeal of his musky scent, the utterly masculine presence he radiated, clouded her mind with an uncomfortable awareness.

Yes, indeed, the man was dangerous. Although she loathed him, she understood why her sister had been attracted to him. He was all man. And Kate herself had relatively little experience with the breed. She literally held her breath until the handcuffs swung free of her wrists and he drew his well-muscled body away from her.

She rubbed her wrists and averted her gaze.

Mitch settled back in his seat feeling nothing but resentment toward her. She was damn lucky he hadn’t wrung her pretty neck. She’d ripped out his heart by taking Arianne and kept him in agony for six long months…and didn’t seem a damn bit sorry for it, either.

In fact, he sensed only an odd determination in her—one that he didn’t understand. What was she up to? Something about the way she looked at him, the way she held herself, the tone of her voice, even the words she chose, seemed so…un-Camryn-like.

He had no doubt the change was deliberate. She was obviously a better actress than he’d realized. Diabolical, even. He had a fairly good guess as to why she’d changed. She’d probably set her sights on a guy who preferred a classier image for his woman than the one she’d been projecting.

Her long, platinum-streaked blond hair, which she’d usually worn flowing in sexy disarray, had been replaced by a primly braided, dark blond upsweep. That alone was enough to change her image completely. Also missing was the dramatic makeup that had added a wicked allure to her natural beauty. If she was wearing makeup at all, it was minimal. And she wasn’t sporting her usual jewelry—a profusion of bracelets, rings and necklaces, as well as big, dangling earrings. Now she displayed only a single sapphire ring, one demure gold chain and tiny gold studs at her ears.

Her clothes were another remarkable difference. She’d always favored tight short-shorts, halter tops and high-heeled strappy sandals. When she’d gone out for the evening—which she often had—she’d donned sensational low-cut dresses, usually in red or black. Always sexy, even after the pregnancy had compromised her chorus-girl figure. Now she wore relatively long khaki shorts, a simple sleeveless white blouse and low-heeled sandals.

Not that she wasn’t still sexy. She was. Maybe more so. But he’d be damned if he’d think about that.

Disgruntled that he’d even noticed, he watched the passing scenery.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the changes in her, though. Like the cotton underwear she’d packed in her suitcase instead of her usual see-through lace. Her current lover apparently wanted a woman drastically different from the real Camryn. Poor bastard.

The deception went much deeper than her clothes or appearance. Even her household had undergone a change. She’d never shown the slightest interest in making their house a home. It had never been more to her than a temporary resting place. The house she now lived in was as cozy and elegant a home as he’d ever seen.

But then, maybe the house wasn’t hers. Because the investigator had spotted her yesterday—on the Fourth of July—he hadn’t had the chance to discover anything at all about her current activities—whom she lived with, what she owned. Not that any of that information mattered much, now that he had her.

Mitch assumed the house belonged to the new man in her life. That would explain the house, the furniture, the leather-bound books, the piano. The guy was in for a rude awakening when Camryn’s true colors began to shine through. Which, in time, they would.

It had taken Mitch himself quite a long while to understand her true character. When they were first married, she’d promised to be a good mother. She quit smoking and drinking for her unborn baby’s sake, and actively tried to win his family’s approval. Though their marriage wasn’t based on love, he’d believed they stood a chance of making their parenthood work. By the fourth month of her pregnancy, though, the novelty of being his wife had worn off, and she’d begun sneaking off to bars and casinos every night in search of new thrills.

She had him served with divorce papers one month after the baby was born. She’d been ready to move on to greener pastures. Too bad she hadn’t stayed to follow up on the legal details…like whether the divorce had gone through.

She’d put on quite a show for the court proceedings, especially at the custody hearing. She’d pulled her hair back with a bow, used very little makeup and wore a sweet yellow sundress to court. Fortunately for him, the judge knew her from various local bars and understood a good deal about her true character. Otherwise, he might not have believed Mitch when he’d testified to her negligence with Arianne.

Camryn was and always would be a self-centered party girl who wanted her kicks regardless of who suffered, including her infant daughter.

And that brought up more questions about this drastic change in her. If she was aiming to please a man, why had she chosen someone who clearly preferred a more sedate woman? Didn’t sound like Camryn’s idea of fun. Maybe the guy had money. Or…power.

That was a disturbing thought. Maybe this dramatic change in persona was part of a plan to arm herself with money and power. The poor sap she was involved with would probably meet them in the courtroom with a highpowered attorney and deep pockets full of ready cash. The prospect only strengthened his resolve to get her to Louisiana to face a judge who knew the true story. No amount of money or legal shenanigans would sway Judge Breaux—not when it came to the welfare of a child.

But what if she convinced the judge that motherhood had changed her into a decent, caring, model parent?

That had to be the driving force behind the change in her. Anxiety surged through Mitch. He knew Camryn enough to be sure that the differences were only superficial. When she had achieved her ends, she would revert to her old fun-craving, irresponsible, negligent self.

Why, then, did she still want custody of the baby?

When she’d discovered she was pregnant, she’d considered it a new adventure. From things she’d told him, he knew she’d envisioned motherhood as one big heart-warming scene from a greeting-card commercial. But reality slowly intruded into that idealized notion, and boredom had set in. She’d been itching to leave Terrebonne Parish for a more exciting place.

He wasn’t surprised that she’d skipped town, but he hadn’t expected her to take his daughter with her.

Nothing in her experience could have prepared her for motherhood on her own. She’d had plenty of help with the baby from his family, and after she’d left, he’d believed she would grow tired of the never-ending work and responsibility of caring for Arianne by herself. He’d expected her to send the baby back to him…or, God forbid, abandon her to someone else’s care.

Neither of those things had happened. This, more than anything, puzzled him. Why did she continue to want Arianne? A baby would only cramp her style and curtail her freedom. She had to have some ulterior motive other than motherly love. He honestly believed Camryn was incapable of such unselfish devotion.

What was on her mind? Or, more appropriately, up her sleeve?

It was then, as he sat staring out his passenger window and pondering the question, that he felt an odd little tug at the back pocket of his jeans. He froze in absolute incredulity.

She was lifting his wallet.

The idea was too ludicrous to believe. Did she think he wouldn’t notice it missing? Did she intend to take his cash and credit cards?

Too curious to work up much of an anger, he allowed her to gradually pull the wallet free of his pocket, and through the reflection in the passenger window, watched her slip it into the pocket of her khaki shorts.

“Um, excuse me, but—” she was speaking to Darryl rather than him “—could you please stop at the next exit? I’d like to find a ladies’ room.”

Maybe she was hoping to escape him with the “ladies’ room” ruse and skip out with his money. Nothing too new about that, he supposed. She’d maxed out his credit cards and spent all the cash she could before she divorced him. She’d then left town with his daughter. About the only thing he hadn’t lost to her was his small house on the swamp, his fleet of shrimp boats and his heart. His heart remained strictly his own, thank God.

“Cap’n, you want me to stop?” Darryl asked him.

“Pull over here.”

Camryn’s lips parted in dismay as Darryl swerved the van onto the shoulder of the highway.

“We’re stopping here?” she said. “You expect me to…to go in the woods?”

He lifted a shoulder. “It’s up to you, chèr’. But we’re not stopping anywhere else, and we still have quite a ways to drive.”

Although clearly dismayed, she nodded and sat forward in the seat.

He clicked a handcuff around her wrist, and the other around his own. “Ready?”

She gaped at the handcuffs binding her wrist to his, then stared at him in patent horror. “You don’t mean that you’re…you’re…coming with me!”

“You didn’t think I’d let you loose in those woods, did you?”

He had to admire her acting ability. He could swear her objection was based on outraged modesty rather than a foiling of her escape plan. But he knew damn well she’d never been overly modest, even before they’d been married. At times she hadn’t even bothered to close the bathroom door.

An oddly convincing blush crept into her face, and she pressed her lips into a thin, white line. “You will not come with me,” she decreed, her tone imperial and her bearing regal. “I won’t allow it.”

She really had that lady-of-the-manor act down pat. “You think I should just let you out and, uh, trust you to return?”

“Absolutely.”

“So…you’re trustworthy, are you, chèr’?”

Something flickered in her pretty brown eyes. Looked a little like guilt. Imagine that. She recovered quickly enough, though, and tilted her chin at a haughty angle. “Yes, I am.”

“Then why do you have my wallet in your pocket?”

The color drained from her face, and she silently stared at him. Never had he seen her more at a loss. Not a lick of her former arrogance remained.

He held out his hand—the one that wasn’t chained to hers.

Color rushed back into her cheeks as she dug into her back pocket and placed the wallet into his palm.

He flipped it open, glanced to see that his credit cards and cash remained in place, then slipped the wallet into his pocket. His shirt pocket, this time. “What were you planning—to skip the country, compliments of my American Express?”

“No. Of course not. I…I wasn’t going to take anything from your wallet. I just…I just…”

He waited, curious as to what explanation she’d come up with.

She seemed fresh out of creativity, though. At least, for the moment. She bit her lip, looking utterly humiliated.

Something about her reaction bothered him. Crazy as it sounded, she seemed too mortified. The old Camryn would have been merely upset at being caught. A subtle difference, but one that he couldn’t easily shake off.

Why did the change in her seem so deeply ingrained?

He didn’t know, and he didn’t like not knowing. He’d have to watch her every move. Good thing he intended to transport her by boat most of the way rather than car. Even if she succeeded in some trickery along the way, she couldn’t do much damage in the Gulf. No one out there would interfere.

“You want to use the woods or not?” he demanded.

“No. I’ll just wait.”

He shrugged and sat back in his seat, forcing her to do likewise, since her wrist was cuffed to his.

“Could you please release my wrist?” she asked, her dignity back in place.

“Don’t try to steal my wallet again,” he warned as he unlocked the cuff from his own wrist, then from hers. “Won’t do you any good, anyway. Cash and credit cards won’t mean much to you out there in the Gulf.”

“The Gulf? Of…Mexico? Do you mean, we’re going on a boat?”

Another odd response. “I damn sure wouldn’t try crossing on a raft.”

She digested that quip in silence, then asked, “What kind of boat?”

He turned and searched her face for signs of mockery or sarcasm. She had to know the answer to that question. Why had she asked it? “The Lady Jeanette,” he told her.

And though he realized Camryn was a good actress and hesitated to believe anything she said or silently conveyed, he also knew that his reply hadn’t told her a damn thing. The question was still as bright and bothersome in her eyes. How could she not know he’d meant one of his shrimp boats?

More perplexing still, he detected fear in her expression. Fear. Why would the thought of traveling on his boat frighten her? She’d enjoyed herself the last time she’d gone out to sea with him. She’d enjoyed herself a little too much, actually.

“Why are we going on a boat?” An almost undetectable tremor reverberated in her voice.

“Because I don’t want you causing problems along the way. On the water, there’s less chance of it.”

Looking troubled, she searched his face, as if she suspected some hidden meaning.

Darryl called over his shoulder, “Is Joey gonna meet us at the dock, Cap’n?”

Before he had time to answer no, that he’d instructed Joey to head straight for home, Camryn cut in, “Joey?

The same Joey who has Arianne? Will he bring her, too?”

That question, more than anything, convinced Mitch that something was going very wrong here. Even Darryl glanced back through the rearview mirror to frown at the woman who’d asked the question.

“You know Joey, Cam,” Mitch answered, watching her. “Why would you ask a question like that?”

From the blankness of her stare, he knew she hadn’t caught his meaning. She clearly had no clue to what she’d said wrong.

“Do you mean—” she hesitated “—he won’t be bringing Arianne to the dock?”

What in the hell was going on?

“I mean,” said Mitch, “that Joey isn’t a he. She’s my sister.”

His sister.

In the tense silence that followed, the facts of the situation rearranged themselves in Kate’s mind. The person keeping Arianne was not the shady gangster character she had envisioned but a woman who held the same family relationship as she herself—Arianne’s aunt. A measure of relief came with that knowledge, but only a slight measure. She had no solid reason to believe this Joey was any more competent or caring with babies than a strange man would be.

On the heel of those thoughts came the understanding that she’d made a huge mistake in referring to Joey as “he.” Both Mitch and his driver were waiting for an explanation. You know Joey, Cam. Why would you ask such a question?

And this was just the beginning. If Mitch was taking her to “his neck of the woods,” as he’d called it, she could be facing a community of people whom Camryn should know. How could she possibly bluff her way through this impersonation?

The answer occurred to her in a flash of unprecedented brilliance—an explanation that would cover her latest blunder and any she might make in the future, as well as offer Mitch an explanation that might help soften his attitude toward Camryn.

And though it would be a lie, it would be more of the truth than she’d told so far.

Meeting his frankly suspicious gaze, Kate said, “I wasn’t going to mention this, since I doubt you’ll believe me. But I suppose I do owe you an explanation.” Taking in a stabilizing breath, she chose her words carefully. “In January, I was involved in an automobile accident. I sustained a head injury. Since then, there have been things I can’t remember. Like, um—” she braced herself, half afraid to utter the rest of the explanation “—Arianne’s last name. Or, where she was born…or—” she finished in a quieter tone “—who her father was.”

She then waited for the bomb to hit target.

At first, his face didn’t register a reaction. As the moment dragged out, his brows converged in a frown. “Are you trying to tell me…?”

He didn’t finish the incredulous question, so Kate finished it for him. “That I don’t know you. Or where you’re from, or anything about you.” When he continued to stare in stupefied silence, she added with fervent honesty, “That’s why I took your wallet. I wanted to see your license…to find out your name.”

CHAPTER FOUR

STUNNED INTO SPEECHLESSNESS, Mitch merely stared at her. Did she actually expect him to believe that she didn’t remember him?

Thoroughly annoyed, he jerked his attention away from her to meet Darryl’s eyes in the rearview mirror. His expression reflected Mitch’s feelings perfectly. Couldn’t remember. Right! Mitch squared his jaw and trained his gaze on the expressway ahead of them. He wouldn’t waste his time responding to her nonsense.

What, he wondered, was the motive behind this ridiculous new claim of hers?

As they exited the expressway and sped down the two-lane rural highway toward Florida’s Gulf Coast, her soft, hesitant voice broke the quiet. “When I first saw you today, the name ‘Mitch’ came to me.” She paused and studied him with wide, beautiful, troubled brown eyes. “Is that your name?”

Mitch couldn’t stop his lip from curling in derision. “No. It’s André.”

“André!” Her brows lifted, like golden wings poised for flight. Those brows soon converged above a frown of bewilderment. “Did anyone ever call you Mitch?”

“No.”

“But…you are Arianne’s father, right?”

That was about as much as Mitch could take. “You know damn well I am. I have no idea what you expect to gain by—” He broke off as the reason for her amnesia ploy occurred to him. By claiming she couldn’t remember him, she’d found an excuse for keeping the baby away for those six months. Despite the fact that she’d disobeyed the custody order by leaving Louisiana with Arianne, the judge might go easier on her.

He clenched his jaw and struggled not to curse. Clever of her. Very clever. But she wouldn’t get away with it. He’d call his attorney and the investigator who’d found her. By the time she told her story to the court, he’d be prepared to expose her as a fraud.

“Your lies won’t get you anywhere, chèr’.”

“I believe you’re the one who’s lying,” she charged with quiet conviction. “I think your name is Mitch.”

Again, she’d managed to astound him. The intensity of her words and the suspicion in her gaze raised the hairs at the back of his neck. She suspected he was lying. But, of course, she had to know….

He searched the depths of her bewildered stare. “What is it you want, Cam? Out of life, I mean. What would have to happen to make you ‘happy ever after’?”

She looked surprised at the question. “Well, I’d take Arianne home, and…and…”

“And what? Have some baby-sitter keep her while you sing in bars at night, sleep during the day and sneak off to drink and gamble in between?”

She gaped at him with an expression that only confused him more—as if the picture he’d painted horrified her; as if she resented his unflattering assumptions; as if he were doing her a grave injustice by reaching those conclusions.

But the Camryn he’d known wouldn’t have found anything wrong with that scenario. She’d always tried to defend that very lifestyle.

“Is…is that what I did?” she asked.

Mitch knew then that he was in trouble. Deep trouble. Because even though he knew she was lying about the amnesia and couldn’t possibly have changed her attitude and lifestyle that much in a span of only six months, he also found it hard to believe she was this good of an actress. She almost had him questioning his basic assumptions about her. Almost.

How the hell could he expect a judge to understand that she was, in fact, incorrigible? That motherhood ranked low on her priority list, far below personal gratification. That her desire for custody sprang from some self-serving ulterior motive. He absolutely knew all of this to be true about her, yet he could clearly see how a judge might be persuaded otherwise.

“By the time my attorney and witnesses get finished with you in court, you’ll look like the worst kind of liar,” he warned. “Take my advice and drop the act now.”

“Is that what you think? That I’m claiming not to remember you in order to sway the court?”

“If that’s not the reason,” he said softly, “then tell me what is.”

Feeling trapped and uncomfortable in her role as Camryn, Kate grappled with the impulse to tell him the truth—that his wife had died, and that she, Kate, was horrified to think of anyone raising a child in the manner he’d described. She hadn’t known that Camryn had gone back to drinking and gambling. She’d thought her sister had sworn off both addictions years ago.

But it seemed Camryn had reverted to her old ways. Had Mitch’s abuse pushed her back into those destructive behaviors? Or…had she considered him “mean” for trying to stop her from them?

If only she could be sure!

All she knew for certain was how Mitch had treated her—forcing his way into her home, handcuffing her, kidnapping her. More than once she’d felt a fearsome anger simmering in him. Until she knew without a doubt that he wouldn’t abuse Arianne, Kate couldn’t confess the truth. Because if she learned that he’d deliberately hurt Camryn or the baby, she would use any edge she had—no matter how devious—to get Arianne away from him.

No, she wouldn’t tell him her true identity. She’d save that for the judge. She’d then charge Mitch with false imprisonment, assault, kidnapping and any other offense her attorney could level against him. Unless, of course, she discovered that Mitch hadn’t been abusive. What would she do then? Give up Arianne?

The thought hurt too much to contemplate. And so far, she found it impossible to believe that he could love Arianne more or give her a better life than she would. In fact, she had only his word that he was her father. She couldn’t change her strategy now.

“Is Joey going to bring Arianne to the dock?” she asked, hoping against hope that she would.

“No. I don’t trust you anywhere near Arianne. And I don’t want her upset by anything you might do.”

She glared at him, and they nursed their mutual animosity in silence.

Nearly an hour later, the van veered off the rural highway onto a crushed-shell driveway that ran alongside an abandoned, boarded-up seafood-processing plant. Behind it, the outriggers and mast pole of a shrimp boat came into view. The van then rounded the corner to the back parking lot, where a weathered wharf bordered the glimmering, dark green waters of a small cove.

At the wharf was docked a large commercial trawler.

“Is that yours?” Kate asked in surprise. “A shrimp boat?”

Mitch answered only with a scornful quirk of his mouth. She supposed it had been a silly question. The trawler was, after all, the only boat at the dock. And as they drove closer, she saw the name painted on the stern. The Lady Jeanette.

The driver parked the van beneath scraggly palm trees near the end of the rickety wooden wharf, and Mitch reached for the door. “Stay here until I check out the boat, Darryl. Keep a close watch on our, uh, guest. Who knows how creative she might get? And don’t let her loose, no matter what she says.”

“Got ’er covered, Cap’n.” The cold-eyed man with thinning black hair, a full mustache, well-trimmed goatee and anchor tattoos decorating his impressive biceps leaned his back against the driver’s door and shifted a narrowed gaze to Kate. “She ain’t going nowhere till you’re ready.”

With a brisk nod for Darryl and one last warning glare at Kate, Mitch left the van and headed toward the shrimp boat.

Fear stirred in her at the thought of being forced aboard a seagoing vessel by hostile men and taken far beyond the reaches of civilization. Not to mention the fact that she’d never been on anything larger than a ski boat, and that had been during her college years, in the relative safety of a bay.

“I don’t understand why we’re going by boat,” she said, hoping to glean information from Darryl.

“Because Mitch is boss on da water. No one gets in his way.” He spoke in a heavier, more distinct version of the dialect she’d noticed in Mitch’s speech—a piquant blend of southern, French and possibly Canadian. It had to be Cajun.

“So his name is Mitch,” she murmured, more to herself than to him.

Her captor snorted. “You got some nerve, lady. Saying you don’t remember Mitch. If he’d let me, I’d take you way out yonder—” he jerked his head toward the sea “—and drag you in da try-net.”

The fear Kate had been fighting spiked sharply in her breast. She had no idea what a try-net was, but she certainly didn’t want to be dragged in one.

Undisguised animosity blazed from Darryl’s coal-black eyes. “You know what you did to him. We all know. You stole his daughter, wasted all his money and broke his heart. He don’t laugh. He don’t joke. He don’t dance at the fais do do. You took all da fun out of him. All his joie de vivre. He ain’t da same Mitch no more…because of you.”

Kate flinched at his hostility. Never before had she been the brunt of anyone’s hatred. She didn’t like the feeling. But surely a man who valued laughter, joking and dancing couldn’t be all bad, could he?

She found it hard to visualize these tough, hard-edged men doing any of those things, though. And she wondered if what he’d said was true. Maybe Camryn had broken Mitch’s heart. She doubted that. More than likely, he was merely furious because he’d lost control over her.

“Better hope when we get home,” Darryl said, “his maman don’t get her hands on you. She’d take you way back in da swamp and feed you to da gators.”

Great. Just great. If she survived the boat trip, she’d have to contend with a family—or entire community—of hostile Cajuns. In the swamplands yet.

The thought of Arianne being held in the swamplands frightened her. She’d heard stories of people disappearing into the swamps of southern Louisiana, never to be seen again. Her panic served to revitalize her sense of purpose. No matter how afraid she was to board this boat, she had to do it. Even if she could find a way to escape from muscle-bound Mitch and his burly cohort, she might lose all contact with her niece. She couldn’t risk that.

Come what may, she had to keep her link to Arianne intact.

AS MITCH STRODE across the parking lot toward the dock, crushed oyster shells crunched beneath his boots, the late-afternoon sun glared in his eyes and a slight gulf breeze riffled through his hair, mercifully diluting the ovenlike July heat.

He breathed a grateful prayer at the sight of the Lady Jeanette awaiting him. At least something had gone as expected.

Although he’d hated to interrupt the shrimping trip of the crew he’d hired to run the Lady Jeanette, he’d called them in yesterday from Alabama waters. Remy had reported that they hadn’t found much shrimp, anyway. “A waste of a good holiday,” he’d grumbled. Less than a hundred pounds in two days, and mostly seventy-ninety count. Too small, too few, to even pay expenses. Which, of course, was the last thing Mitch needed on the heels of an expensive marriage, separation and hunt for his daughter.

For now, though, he was glad to have the Lady Jeanette at his service. She’d been his first and favorite boat, a seventy-five-foot, relatively shallow-drafting wood hull built in North Carolina. Although his three other boats were newer, faster steel hulls, none handled the sea with the same lilting grace as Jeanette. She also had the most comfortable quarters.

More to the point, she’d been the boat nearest to this isolated old dock between Panama City and Pensacola, a few hours’ drive from Tallahassee down densely wooded highways and unpeopled back roads.

As he’d hoped, the dock was deserted. If Camryn screamed while he brought her aboard, no one would come to her rescue.

After drawing his cell phone from his pocket, Mitch keyed in the number for the private investigator. He had to disprove Camryn’s ridiculous claim before they went to court. A few rings and he reached the investigator’s recorded greeting. Irritated at the delay, he left a message for Chuck Arceneaux, relating the bare facts of his newest problem. He then dialed his attorney, who was also unavailable. Not too surprising, he supposed, considering it was suppertime on a Friday. July 5, no less. A holiday weekend. He suspected that neither his attorney nor the investigator would be available before Monday.

At least Chuck would have a definite starting point this time. Now that he knew Camryn’s address and alias, he could probably trace her activities fairly easily. If those activities didn’t include an automobile accident and serious head injury, she’d be facing a perjury charge as well as breaking the custody order…assuming, of course, she intended to tell the same story to the judge. Mitch believed she did. Why else would she bother to concoct such a tale, if not to defend herself in court?

Tense with anxiety, Mitch climbed a set of sun-bleached wooden steps and crossed the weathered planking to the Lady Jeanette. He couldn’t wait to get out to sea again. At least there, he could think straight. Breathe easy. Make sense of his thoughts.

As he stepped over the bulwark and onto the back deck, a short, grizzled-haired figure strutted out from the wheelhouse. “Ca va, Mitch. How you makin’?” Remy, his long-time employee who usually captained the Lady Jeanette, sauntered to the back deck with a wide grin.

A tiny inset diamond glittered between his front teeth. This newest affectation never failed to amuse Mitch. The ugly, swarthy, ponytailed son of a gun was determined to draw the ladies’ eyes. It seemed he’d found a surefire way. “You have your wife wit’ you?” Remy asked, gazing curiously toward the tinted windows of the van.

“Don’t call her my wife. If you’re talking about Camryn, yeah. I have her.”

Remy muttered a Cajun epithet about her to show moral support for Mitch, as his family often did. Not that Mitch encouraged hostile feelings toward her. Everyone in his tight-knit community knew she’d stolen his daughter, though. Many thought she’d also broken his heart. No one would forgive her those sins any time soon.

Except, perhaps, Remy. The middle-aged seaman always took joy in beautiful women. If he hadn’t proved his loyalty over the years, Mitch wouldn’t have included him in this voyage. Although Remy would take endless delight in Camryn’s company, Mitch knew he’d help deliver her to the Terrebonne Parish authorities. To Remy, duty and loyalty to his captain at sea always came before pleasure. He was one of Mitch’s best men.

“And your fille…you found her, too, eh?”

Mitch nodded and glanced out over the glistening, pickle-green water of the cove, not wanting to talk about his daughter. Too many emotions clashed within him. For six months he’d agonized, wondering where Arianne was, whom she was with, how she was being treated. His relief at finding her washed through him in overwhelming tides, but his anxiety still burned. Though she seemed to have come through the ordeal okay, he couldn’t be sure she hadn’t suffered.

And his need to see her, hold her, reestablish his connection with her, hadn’t yet been filled. He’d caught only a glimpse of her in Camryn’s garage before Joey had whisked her away—a precaution Mitch had insisted on. In case some well-meaning lawman interrupted his plans for taking Camryn to Louisiana, he wanted Arianne safe at home with his family. He also saw no sense in exposing her to the inevitable animosity between her mother and him. He would not intentionally add to his daughter’s distress.

All he could do now was hope that Joey and a long-time family friend had a safe trip back to Terrebonne Parish. If anyone could calm a distressed baby, it was Joey. She’d have her smiling in no time.

Wishing he could be there to see it, Mitch swept his gaze distractedly over the neat back deck of the shrimp boat. “Are we ready to go, Remy?”

“Mais, oui, Cap’n.” A frown etched deep grooves in his forehead. “Da boat’s ready, yes, but…”

“And your deckhands found transportation home?”

“Dey went out wit’ another boat last night. But—”

“Then fire up the engine while I get the rest of our, uh, crew.” Mitch turned away, deliberately ignoring the protest he knew Remy would make about leaving the dock today. He was in no mood to argue. And since Mitch was acting as captain on this trip, Remy would concede to his wishes.

Mitch himself would breathe a lot easier when he had his wily prisoner safely offshore…on his turf, so to speak. She couldn’t cause much trouble out there.

As he disembarked from the boat and strode back toward the van, though, he suddenly wasn’t too sure of that. She probably could cause trouble if she put her mind to it. She obviously had depths to her character that he hadn’t seen before.

Maybe it was time to change his strategy in dealing with her. Maybe he should follow her lead and play the game her way. If she believed herself to be winning him over, she’d be less likely to try something rash at sea. After all, if hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, he didn’t want to court that fury while captaining the Lady Jeanette.

He’d simply have to hide his scorn. He’d treat her with the respect he’d show any woman—under normal circumstances—and engage her in conversation. He’d even play along with her amnesia tale if she persisted in it. Maybe he could get her talking. The more he knew about her life since she’d left him, the better prepared he’d be in court. And, of course, the more she talked, the better chance he had of tripping her up in the lie.

Before they reached port in Terrebonne Parish, he’d give her plenty of rope to hang herself.

KATE NOTICED a subtle difference in him the moment he returned to the van. It had to do with the open, friendly way he met her gaze as he settled into the back seat beside her and the warmer tone of his voice when he addressed her. “The boat’s ready. The weather’s holding out. The sea is calm. We should have a pretty smooth start to our trip.” He almost smiled at her. Though his mouth didn’t actually curve, the very end tilted slightly upward. His new amiability was enough to make her gape at him. “Let’s go.”

Darryl muttered something agreeable in the front seat, gathered things together and climbed from the van.

Kate scooted across the seat toward the door, her mind reeling. She’d barely recognized Mitch without his usual hostility and coldness. He seemed years younger, and a thousand times more…civilized. What had caused the change in his demeanor? Maybe the fact that they’d soon be out to sea, and on their way to “his neck of the woods.”

Regardless of what had caused the difference, she devoutly welcomed it. She hadn’t realized until this moment how much she’d been longing for a break from the anger directed at her. She simply wasn’t used to being treated with hostility. Even if his pleasantness went no deeper than common courtesy, she welcomed the comparative warmth like a flower starving for sunlight.

When she reached the doorway where Mitch stood, Kate peered at him to see if she’d imagined the softening in his attitude. This time, he smiled. A slow, lazy smile—one that bracketed his mouth with deep dimples and emphasized the vertical cleft in his square chin; one that lit golden highlights in his eyes, like sunshine glinting on a dark green sea.

Kate roused herself from a sudden stupor to realize her heart was pounding and her breathing had stopped. Good heavens, his smile transformed him. He had to be one of the most handsome, sexiest men she’d ever seen—all rough-hewn masculinity, sun-bronzed flesh, contoured muscle…with a breathtaking smile, yet. Even the laugh lines fanning from the corners of his green eyes added a rugged appeal.

“I’ve been a little…brusque, haven’t I?” he said.

Still dazed from his smile, she blinked, unsure she’d heard him correctly.

The smile mellowed into one of thoughtful contrition. “Camryn, I’m sorry for how I treated you today. I shouldn’t have been so…rough. I guess I overreacted.”

Astonishment left her momentarily speechless. He was apologizing. When she found her voice, all she thought to utter was “Y-yes.”

“We have a serious matter to settle, but there’s no reason we can’t act civilized while we settle it.”

“Civilized,” she repeated, nodding in wholehearted agreement and tenuous relief. Surely a man who looked you straight in the eye and apologized with such sincerity wouldn’t take you out on the high seas and murder you. Or drag you in a try-net. Would he?

With a satisfied nod, he reached out and settled his hands on her upper arms.

The unexpected contact startled her. Was he going to seal their presumed truce with a hug, or a kiss? A dizzying heat rushed through her at the thought.

His callused hands swept down her arms, brought her wrists together…and held them fast in one large palm while he reached beside him for the handcuffs. “I know you don’t like being cuffed,” he said in the same warm, amiable tone in which he’d apologized, “but it’ll only be until we leave port and clear the channel.” The cuffs locked around her wrists with an annoying click.

That effectively dispelled her stupor. “I thought you said we were going to act civilized. Do you call this civilized?” she demanded, lifting her bound wrists for emphasis.

“Until I know you won’t try to escape, I have to take precautions.” He somehow managed to make that seem reasonable. “Once we’re at sea, I’ll release you.”

Annoyance stirred in her, and she wondered if he’d keep that promise. “I won’t try to escape. I want to see the judge as much as you do.”

“Good.” He flashed her another smile, and she noticed the whiteness of his teeth against the bronze of his skin, and the golden highlights in his hair. Before she knew what he was about, he hooked his hand around her waist and scooped her up into his arms.

“I can walk!” she protested.

“No need.”

She glared at him, resentful of the handcuffs, distrustful of his new friendliness and flustered by his physical closeness. With iron-strong arms, he held her tightly against his chest as he carried her. He smelled of sea salt, the summer Gulf breeze, exotic places and clean male sweat—an intensely masculine scent, somehow. Enticing.

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