“One more thing,” Sara said. “Just because I’ve hired you doesn’t mean I’m going to…sleep with you.”

Bull’s-eye. Arrow straight through Liam’s male ego. Just when he thought he was beginning to figure her out, she threw him another curve.

“What gave you the idea that I wanted to—” Then it hit him. The kiss. Of course. “I’m sorry if I acted inappropriately,” he said, not meaning a word of it. “But as I remember, you kissed me, too.”

Her full lips twitched as she studied him. “Well, now that our curiosity about each other has been satisfied, we should have no more problems sticking to business.”

So she was only satisfying her curiosity, was she?

Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

August marks a special month at Harlequin Intrigue as we commemorate our twentieth anniversary! Over the past two decades we’ve satisfied our devoted readers’ diverse appetites with a vast smorgasbord of romantic suspense page-turners. Now, as we look forward to the future, we continue to stand by our promise to deliver thrilling mysteries penned by stellar authors.

As part of our celebration, our much-anticipated new promotion, ECLIPSE, takes flight. With one book planned per month, these stirring Gothic-inspired stories will sweep you into an entrancing landscape of danger, deceit…and desire. Leona Karr sets the stage for mind-bending mystery with debut title, A Dangerous Inheritance.

A high-risk undercover assignment turns treacherous when smoldering seduction turns to forbidden love, in Bulletproof Billionaire by Mallory Kane, the second installment of NEW ORLEANS CONFIDENTIAL. Then, peril closes in on two torn-apart lovers, in Midnight Disclosures— Rita Herron’s latest book in her spine-tingling medical research series, NIGHTHAWK ISLAND.

Patricia Rosemoor proves that the fear of the unknown can be a real aphrodisiac in On the List—the fourth installment of CLUB UNDERCOVER. Code blue! Patients are mysteriously dropping like flies in Boston General Hospital, and it’s a race against time to prevent the killer from striking again, in Intensive Care by Jessica Andersen.

To round off an unforgettable month, Jackie Manning returns to the lineup with Sudden Alliance—a woman-in-jeopardy tale fraught with nonstop action…and a lethal attraction!

Join in on the festivities by checking out all our selections this month!

Sincerely,

Denise O’Sullivan

Harlequin Intrigue Senior Editor

Sudden Alliance
Jackie Manning

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jackie Manning wrote and published her first and last newspaper at the age of six. Her editorial career came to a screeching halt when her mother bought the first copy and realized that Jackie had exposed the family secrets. Undaunted, Jackie started making up stories, and she’s been spinning tales ever since. Today, she lives with her husband, Tom (Bert), and their shih tzu, Emperor Foo Foo. Jackie loves to hear from her readers. You can e-mail her at jackie@jackiemanning.com or write to her at P.O. Box 1739, Waterville, ME 04903-1739.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Liam O’Shea—Ex-special forces, now a covert specialist for the TALON-6 Agency, knows everything about danger. But can his highly tuned skills keep the woman he loves from a pair of killers?

Sara Regis—She has no memory of her past. All she knows about her future is that somebody wants her dead.

Trent Sherburne—He wants political power, and he’ll stop at nothing to get it.

Kitty Sherburne—Is she playing a game that’s turning deadly?

Jeremy Regis—The brother Sara can’t remember. Does he have a personal reason to keep a safe distance from her?

Al Ranelli and Francie Zarella—Bellwood Island police officers and childhood friends of Liam O’Shea.

The Ziegler Brothers—Hired hit men. Who paid these killers to hunt Sara down?

The Boss—Who is the man who wants Sara dead, and why?

This book is dedicated to Cheryl Shepard Rissman.

I love you, sis.

Special thanks to two of the dearest friends anyone could have: Susanne MacDonald and Karen Tukovits. I admire you both so much.

Thanks for your support and love.

And to my darling husband. I love you.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter One

“Holy—” A jolt of adrenaline shot through Liam as he gripped the steering wheel. Was the fog playing tricks on him, or was that really a woman he saw, staggering along the side of the narrow road at almost four in the morning?

The woman froze like a terrified rabbit, her eyes wide with shock as she stared into the car’s headlights. Her face contorted in horror, and when she screamed the sound was as piercing as if the hounds of hell were chasing her. A moment later, she swayed and collapsed to the ground.

Liam swerved the convertible to avoid hitting her, then downshifted into second. With a few deft motions, he spun the Alpha Romeo in a 180-degree turn, tires screeching in the early morning stillness.

The low beams of his car illuminated the sprawled figure lying on the sandy shoulder of the road. Leaping from the vehicle, he lunged toward where she had fallen.

Kneeling beside her, he cradled her head in his lap and brushed long strands of hair from her face. Probing gently, he found an egg-shaped lump near her temple. She moaned when his fingers gently touched the injury, her back arching in pain.

He felt for broken bones and was relieved that despite numerous bloody scratches along her arms and legs—incredibly long and shapely legs—her wounds appeared to be mostly superficial. All except for that bump on the head. She might be suffering from a concussion.

Holding her carefully, he shrugged free of his wind-breaker, then very gently cradled her again, slipping it around her shoulders. As he did so her eyes flew open—enormous green eyes, if the color wasn’t a shadowy trick of the headlights.

Her oval face paled with terror. “No! No! No!” she screamed, fighting him with almost superhuman strength. Her fingers curled as if to scratch him.

Liam released her, afraid to further frighten her, and scooted back. “Hey, lady! I’m one of the good guys. I’m here to help.” As she struggled to her feet, her long hair swung forward, and he saw bits of leaves and twigs embedded in it. The jeans she wore were ripped, and her yellow T-shirt looked as if she’d fought her way out of a bramble bush.

“What happened? Were you in an accident?”

He knew this isolated stretch of dunes, dubbed “lovers’ lane,” was a favorite with the local teenagers. But she looked much older. Twenty-five or so? Still, who could tell? Maybe her boyfriend had dumped her because her answer to Romeo was no. Or, Liam thought with a sickening twist in his gut, had she been raped?

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said gently, setting aside his fury at sick bastards who got their kicks from violating and abusing women. “I have a phone in my car. I’m going to call for help.”

“No!” She screamed the word and stepped back, her hands shielding her eyes from the car’s headlights.

“I want to help you. Are you hurt?” Liam asked, afraid to touch her. He feared she might be going into shock. “Are you alone? Can you tell me what happened?”

Instead of answering, she turned and bolted toward the dunes. But before she had taken three steps, she staggered, struggling for balance. Her arms flailed like a child learning how to ice-skate. Liam rushed to her side just before her knees buckled. He leaned her against his chest and, for a moment, she appeared too weak to protest. Her moist breath fanned his neck as she laid her head against the V of his open sport shirt. He sensed she was only resting long enough to regain her equilibrium, then she’d try to escape once more. Damn, he wished she’d let him help her.

Liam glanced along the deserted dunes that lined the road, hoping for some sign of a car, but all he saw was deepening shadows and fog. He knew that at this time of early morning, in early spring, the chance of someone coming along this stretch of summer cottages was practically nil.

He glanced down at the woman in his arms. “Look, miss,” he said, noticing that she wasn’t wearing a gold band or any kind of ring. Nor was there an indentation on her ring finger from a discarded wedding band. “My sister is a doctor. I’m on my way to see her at the family cottage, a few miles up the road. She can help you.”

“No! Leave me alone.” Her fists rapped his chest in a futile attempt to push him away. He winced inwardly, knowing her protests took every ounce of what little strength she had left.

“You’re in no condition to be alone,” he said, grasping her by the shoulders. “I grew up in these parts and I know that no one lives here this time of year. We’re on a narrow peninsula with an isolated bird sanctuary on one side and the ocean on the other.” His gaze took in her T-shirt and jeans. “You’re not dressed for this weather, either.”

She dragged air into her lungs and lifted her head, gazing blindly into his eyes. The whimpering sound she made at the back of her throat reminded him of a wounded puppy. Something twisted in his gut. She needed his protection, whether she wanted it or not. For a moment she quieted, and he was filled with hope that maybe she understood that he was trying to help her.

He put his arm around her as he led her toward his car. “There, that’s not so bad, is it?” he said. She took several steps beside him, then suddenly jerked away again, as though his touch were deadly. Then she totally collapsed.

GRAVEL CRUNCHED ALONG the driveway as Liam’s convertible pulled to a stop in front of the weathered clapboard cottage at the end of the peninsula. He honked the horn several times. Almost immediately, the porch lights sprang to life, and a blond woman poked her head around the screen door.

“Is that you, Liam?” Dr. Bridget O’Shea Thomas flung open the door and, when he called to her, she wrapped her chenille robe tightly around herself and ran down the steps. A collie lumbered beside her heels, barking a welcome. “Quiet, Bounder!” Bridget ordered, her feet beating a tattoo along the seashell-lined path. “With this fog I didn’t expect you until morning,” she said, “but…” She stopped when she saw Liam wasn’t alone.

His sister sighed. “I wish you’d have told me before bringing a…” Her words trailed off when she saw the woman slumped against Liam’s shoulder, in the front seat of the sports car, apparently asleep.

Liam turned off the ignition, pulled on the emergency brake and turned to the unconscious woman beside him. “Get a bed ready, Bridget. I found her alongside the road. She may be going into shock.”

Bridget ordered the collie back to the porch. Then she dashed around the passenger side of the car and leaned over the woman. Her movements deft and professional, she lifted the woman’s eyelids. “I’ll call Willie,” she said. “Luckily she drove down with me yesterday.”

Liam should have known that Bridget would have brought Dr. Wilhelmina Prescott, the O’Shea family’s long-time friend and summer neighbor since Liam and his sisters were babies.

“Carry her upstairs,” Bridget ordered. “Put her in your room.” The look she gave Liam was cautiously controlled, but he recognized the concern in his sister’s eyes. Without another word, Bridget turned and made a beeline to the cottage.

Carrying the woman, Liam followed his sister up the porch steps. “Are David and the girls here with you?” he asked Bridget, knowing that her husband loved the old family cottage as much as his wife.

“No. Linda had basketball practice and Kathy had a swim meet. David is driving them later this morning.”

When Liam approached the stairway, Bridget called out, “Watch your step. Kate waxed the floors yesterday and they’re as slippery as an ice rink.” Bridget stood on the first-floor landing and punched numbers into her cell phone.

Liam’s boots clomped loudly on the polished oak steps as the familiar smells of furniture wax, mothballs and pine cleaning solution filled his nostrils. As he carried the slight body up the stairs, the woman’s arms dangled lifelessly.

The collie was waiting on the landing, his tail thumping loudly on the floorboards. Then the dog raced excitedly down the hall and whined outside Liam’s closed bedroom door.

“Don’t jump on the bed,” Liam warned as he opened it.

The collie scampered inside and leaped on the bed. Liam scowled at the animal as he pressed the light switch with his elbow. The room sprang to life, and with it memories of his boyhood summers. Army football pennants and posters of rock-and-roll icons shared wall space with models of fighter jets and helicopters.

“Let me help you,” Bridget said as she came up beside him, her medical bag in hand. “I called Willie,” she added, folding back the red plaid bedspread on the double bed.

The injured woman groaned softly as Liam gently laid her down. Against the pristine white sheets, her scratches and cuts stood out like red flags along her arms and legs. Above her right temple, the goose-egg-size lump he’d felt earlier was visible now. Her fingernails were dirty, ripped and bleeding. She moaned, her head thrashing back and forth against the pillows.

“Did she have a purse or any ID?” Bridget asked, fumbling inside her leather medical bag.

“Not that I could see in the car headlights,” Liam said, reaching for the cell phone hooked to his belt. “As soon as it’s light, I’ll go back and check around.”

Bridget inspected the woman’s arms for needle tracks, then flicked back her eyelids, flashing a penlight on and off. “She’s not on drugs, which was my first thought. Nor do I smell alcohol on her breath.” She glanced up. “Who are you calling?”

“The police,” he said as he made his way toward the door. “Maybe she wandered from the scene of an accident. Or maybe there’s a missing persons report out on her.”

“Good idea. I want to get her cleaned up a bit before Willie gets here.”

“Okay,” Liam said, moving toward the door. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.” He stepped into the hall, shutting the door on his way out.

The receptionist at the Bellwood Island Police Department answered on the first ring. “Connect me to Detective Zarella,” Liam said, unable to forget the fear in the woman’s eyes. It had been a long time since he’d seen such terror. Not since Iraq and those fearful dark eyes of women searching for their loved ones among the war casualties. He blocked off the thought when Detective Frances Zarella answered.

“Francie, it’s Liam. Were any accident reports filed today, or any missing persons reported in the past couple days?”

“Hmm. I don’t hear from you in six months and I don’t even rate a ‘Hi, Francie, how ya been since I stole those ten bucks from you?’”

Liam smiled. “Don’t be a sore loser, Francie. You lost that sawbuck fair and square. Next time, bet on a winning team.”

He heard her warm laughter on the other end of the line. “Don’t you know that it’s an act of treason for a New Englander to bet on any team except the Red Sox?”

“That’s not loyalty. That’s stupidity.” He grinned when he heard her swear.

“Hold on while I check.”

The light teasing with Francie did little to distract Liam’s thoughts from the mysterious woman lying in the next room.

“An eighty-two-year-old man wandered from the Bellwood Harbor Nursing Home last night,” Francie said, coming back on the line. “But he was found several hours later. We had a report of a missing seven-year-old boy at 10:05 a.m. yesterday, but his mother called back to say he’d fallen asleep in the back seat of his grandfather’s car. That’s it, Liam.” She hesitated. “Why, what’s up?”

“Nothing,” he said, surprising himself when he realized that he’d decided to wait until the woman regained consciousness before reporting the incident to the police. More surprising, he didn’t know why. Maybe it was because she’d seemed so terrified. Until he knew who or what she was afraid of, he’d trust his instincts. “I’ll stop in and say hi before I head back to the city. I promise.”

“You’d better. Al will be wicked mad if you dare leave for the Big Apple before he has a chance to trade war stories with you.”

“Well, I know better than to tick off your partner. Take care, Francie. And thanks.”

He clicked off the phone and absently hooked it back onto his belt, his mind on the unconscious woman. Maybe she wasn’t from this area of Cape Cod. The tourist season wouldn’t be starting for another four weeks or more. Maybe she had been visiting one of the new year-round homes that had sprung up along the coast recently, and she’d taken a wrong turn. He hadn’t seen her car, which brought him back to his first thought—that she’d been dropped off to fend for herself.

He strode back toward his room, determined to solve the mystery. When he knocked, he heard his sister say, “Come on in, Liam. I’m just about finished.”

As Liam stepped inside, he was surprised to find the woman alert. She jerked her head up and glanced around the room.

“You’re safe, dear,” Bridget said in a gentle voice. She was sitting beside the bed. “You’re with friends.”

The woman’s green eyes fixed on Liam. Her face had been washed, so the cuts and scratches stood out even more against her ivory complexion. Her hair had been smoothed back, and she was dressed in one of Bridget’s flannel nightgowns.

Liam stepped to the fireplace mantel and leaned against it, wondering if she recognized him as the man who’d found her. Her stare held no sign of recognition.

“That’s my brother, Liam,” Bridget said, as if to remove the woman’s confusion. “He’s the man who found you on the road. I’m a doctor. A pediatrician. He brought you to our cottage because he knew you’d be safe here. I’ve called a neighbor who is an internist. I want her to have a look at you. Then I’d like to take you to the local hospital—”

“No!” The woman swung around and stared at Bridget. “I can’t stay here!” She threw the cover back and struggled to sit up.

Bridget shot a worried look at Liam. “You’re free to go, dear,” she said, “but please let us help you.” This woman was in no condition to leave on her own. “Can I call someone for you? It’s four in the morning. Do you have a husband, a boyfriend, someone who is worried about you?”

The woman looked confused, then rubbed her head. “I—I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Bridget repeated, then glanced worriedly at Liam again.

Liam knew from the bump on her head that she might be suffering from amnesia. He motioned to Bridget, then stepped back into the hall. A minute later, she met him outside the door.

“She’s terrified of being confined and suffering extreme panic—symptomatic of hysterical amnesia. Did you find out anything at the police station?” she whispered.

“No. Nothing. Do you think she’s been attacked?”

“I’ll wait for Willie to take a look at her. Willie helped organize the local rape crisis center here on the island and will know how to approach her. The woman should be x-rayed, and checked by a trauma team at the E.R.”

“Not without her permission. When I offered to take her to the hospital, I think she would have bolted off across the dunes if she hadn’t collapsed first.”

“Why don’t you go downstairs and wait for Willie while I stay with our mystery guest?”

“Did you turn on the security alarm? You’ll need to keep an eye on her,” Liam said. “I’ve got a feeling she’ll try to sneak off the minute your back is turned.”

Bridget rubbed her forehead thoughtfully. “Okay, brother. I won’t forget.” She gave him a playful shove toward the stairs.

He remembered how reluctant Bridget had been when he’d first suggested that TALON-6, the security company in which he was a partner, install the latest bells-and-whistles surveillance system to protect the family’s summer cottage. Regardless of his older sister’s suspicions of high-tech gadgets, he knew she realized that the equipment he’d installed at the beach cottage was a good idea.

Several minutes later, Liam was pulling a set of sheets, a blanket and a pillow from the hall linen closet when he heard Bridget’s light footfalls behind him. “I’ll sleep on the living room couch,” he said. “I’ll keep an eye on the front door in case our houseguest decides to sneak out.”

Bridget stood on tiptoe, reached up to pull out a handstitched quilt from the top shelf. “That might be a good idea.” She shrugged. “She seems very agitated. Who knows what she might do?” She walked toward the stairs with Liam. “She’s very lucky. With the darkness and the patchy fog, it’s a wonder you saw her.”

The coincidence wasn’t lost on Liam, either. His sixth sense had been tingling ever since he’d spotted the woman. Something wasn’t right.

Maybe he was just paranoid. He’d had very little sleep in the last twenty-four hours, and had been back in the country only since last night. No doubt what he’d been through was finally catching up with him.

Liam took the quilt without argument. “I’ll send Willie upstairs as soon as she arrives.”

“SO YOU’RE SAYING she wasn’t raped?” Liam asked awhile later as he studied their neighbor. He’d known the gray-haired woman for as long as he could remember. Dressed in a faded flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up to her deeply tanned elbows, Dr. Wilhelmina Prescott returned his gaze over the top of her wire-rimmed glasses.

“That I’m sure of,” Willie said, folding her stethoscope inside her black leather medical bag. “I can’t tell you much more until she’s x-rayed. She might have short-term memory loss from that bump on the head.”

“Did she tell you what happened?”

Willie shook her head. “No, but I gave her something to relax her. After she’s rested, I think she’ll be more receptive.” She leaned over to stroke the collie’s head. “Keep an eye on her. Don’t let her sleep too long. Bridget knows what to do, and she’ll take the first watch.”

Willie peered at Liam with a no-nonsense look in her gray eyes. “Your sister said you drove up here from New York City in this fog.”

“Now, Willie,” he said lightly. “The highway was clear until I reached the island, and then there were only patches of it.” When his answer failed to melt the censure in her flinty gaze, Liam added, “I just came off a mission in the Middle East and needed to finish debriefing. I left as soon as I could.”

Willie’s lips firmed into a tight line. “Bridget and your other sisters worry about you, Liam.” She shook her head. “You’re getting too old for living on the edge.”

“Let me walk you to your cottage,” Liam said, hoping to avoid the usual lecture. Dear Willie meant well, but ever since his Special Forces buddy and close friend, Master Sergeant Stewart Thomas, who was also Bridget’s husband’s brother, had been killed in a covert mission four years ago, Willie and his sisters had been clamoring for Liam to quit taking covert ops and find a less dangerous profession.

“It’s time you settled down, got married. Your life is too risky, Liam. It’s time you grew up.”

Liam kissed Willie’s leathery cheek. “Thanks for worrying about me, Will, but I’m fine.”

“Don’t think you can use your Irish charm on me,” she said, but the smile in her eyes betrayed her words. “You’ll be thirty-four in June. Time to get married. Settle down like your sisters.”

“I’ll marry you tomorrow, Willie, if you’ll have me.”

Her mouth curled and her eyes twinkled. “Ah, if I were forty years younger, I’d give you a run for your money.”

Liam heard her chuckle as he helped her into her yellow hooded slicker. She was still grinning when she grabbed her medical bag.

“If anything changes, give me a holler.”

“I will,” he said, “and thanks for coming over so soon.” His thoughts turned back to the woman lying upstairs. Thank God she hadn’t been raped. Yet whatever had spooked her might have been as traumatic or worse. He followed Willie toward the porch steps, preparing to walk her to her cottage.

“Stay where you are,” she said, pulling the hood over her short gray curls. “I’ve been making my way around these dunes since you were a twinkle in your ma’s eye.” She stomped down the porch steps, as agile as a woman half her age. “Get some sleep, Liam. You’re still as handsome as sin, but you look as tired as I feel.”

He chuckled softly. “’Night, Willie.”

“Don’t forget your niece’s baptism is at one o’clock. Maureen will be sorely disappointed if you miss it.” Willie’s voice rang with spirit. “See you in church.”

Liam nodded, then watched until the old woman disappeared behind the shoulder-high clumps of sea grass that sprouted from the shifting dunes between the O’Shea summer cottage and Willie’s place at the end of the road.

He was about to shut off the porch light when Bridget’s footfalls on the stairs caught his attention. He looked up to see her walking toward him, a pair of scuffed running shoes in her hand. “I laid a change of clean clothing out for her in her room. I think we’re close to the same size.” Bridget looked up. “Did Willie leave already?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Think I should go after Willie to be sure she gets home okay?” he asked.

Bridget frowned, brushing past him. “Heaven forbid! She’s like a mountain goat along the dunes.” She laid the shoes on the welcome mat, inside the door. “Besides, you’d hurt her feelings. She’d think you decided she was getting old.” Bridget straightened, bracing her hands at the small of her back as she studied him. “I’m so glad you’re finally home.” She moved toward him, then put her palm on his shoulder as if she needed to feel him to be sure he was really there. “Even if it’s only for a few days.”

He gave a deep sigh. “One day, I’m afraid, sis. I planned to head back to New York late tonight.”

Bridget withdrew her hand and glared at him. “Damn it, Liam. David and the girls and all our sisters and their families will be here in a few hours.” She swallowed, as though fighting back her temper. “You haven’t been home in two years. And that was for Mom’s funeral.”

Liam knew the issue wasn’t that he was away from the family, but that Bridget feared what had happened to Stewart would happen to him. He waited, giving his sister the time she needed to pull herself together.

“How’s the patient?” he asked when she had quieted, purposely changing the subject.

“When I left her, she was asleep.” Bridget leaned on the porch railing, gazing across the driveway at the silvery wisps of fog hovering among the shadowy pines. When she turned back to him, her eyes were thoughtful. “You’ve been bringing home strays ever since you were old enough to crawl. But you’re going to have your hands full with this one, brother.”

Surprised, he frowned at her. “What do you mean?”

Bridget pursed her lips. “I wonder what our mystery lady was running from?” One eyebrow lifted. “I hope you don’t get involved, Liam. She’s in a lot of trouble.”

Liam completely agreed. Yet he didn’t want his sister to worry. “There you go, conjuring up your Celtic dark side.” He put his arm around her and gently guided her toward the stairs. “Get some rest while your patient sleeps. Wake me in a few hours and I’ll take over.”

Bridget shot him a look over her shoulder. “Don’t think you can dismiss me this easily, Liam. For all we know, we may be harboring a fugitive. She might be putting us in danger.”

“Or she’s an innocent victim who needs our help.”

Bridget blinked back a rush of sudden emotion. “The trouble with you, Liam, is you’re attracted to danger. You always have been, even when you were little.” Her voice was sharp and accusing. “Why can’t you enjoy a normal job? Your friends Al and Francie love adventure, too. But they joined the police force. At least they can have a family life, live here on the island. No, my brother has to chase danger all over the globe—” Her voice broke and she turned away.

Liam knew that his teammate’s death had affected all his sisters, but Bridget was the most sensitive. Her husband was Stewart’s brother, after all. Yet Liam knew her anger would be piling up between them unless he faced this straight on. “Bridget, I’m not Stewart. You heard him say that when a bullet has your name on it, there’s nothing you can do.”

She snorted. “Do you really believe that? Do you think his wife and daughter believe that? I know you and your partners at TALON-6 have tried to make it up to Liz and Bailey. Paying for Bailey’s education and looking out for her under everyone’s watchful eye while she works as a receptionist for TALON-6 is very noble. But don’t you think Bailey and her mother would rather have Stewart back in a heartbeat than—” Her eyes narrowed and she took a deep breath. “Dear God, I didn’t want to get into this, but now that I have—” Bridget’s eyes glittered with anger. “You know what I think? I think Stewart was a selfish bastard who never grew up. His place was with Liz and Bailey, not on a secret mission in some Colombian jungle fighting the—” Her anger gave way to tears, and she swiped at her eyes. “Damn it, Liam. You were right there with him. It might have been you when that rocket fired—”

He drew her into a hug. “Liz knew who Stewart was when she married him. She loved him anyway.”

Bridget pulled away, then took a hankie from her sweater pocket and wiped her eyes. When her tears had stopped, he added, “I don’t want you to worry, but I can’t live your play-it-safe life just because you and the family want me to. If you can’t accept me for who I am, sis, then I’m sorry. But I’m very good at what I do. I’ve been trained by the best our government has to offer. Since I’ve joined TALON-6, I can protect innocent people against the most inhuman situations.”

She swallowed. “You’re also a hopeless adrenaline junkie.” She forced a weak smile. “Of course I’m proud of you, Liam.” Her lips twisted. “I’m just so afraid for you.”

He squeezed her hand. “Trust me.”

Bridget shot him a look. “I better get back to our patient.”

He sighed as he watched her climb the stairs. Damn, he loved her, but how could he expect his sisters to understand? Thank God he’d made the choice never to marry.

Most people didn’t understand the covert operations so necessary in today’s world. How could they? Most of the top-secret surveillance equipment he’d designed was unknown to the general public. Information technology was of prime importance to military power, and working for agencies like TALON-6 provided him the opportunity to do what he did best. But Stewart had understood.

Liam’s stomach clenched like a fist as the memory of that Colombian night four years ago slammed into his brain. As though it were yesterday, he could still feel the sweat drip down his body, smell the rotting, fecund earth and hear the screeching of monkeys in the treetops as the TALON-6 team slipped silently through the dark, wet jungle toward the guerilla camp of the National Liberation Army, or ELN.

In record time, they’d wended their way past sleeping and half-drunken guards, to rescue the DEA agent held prisoner. Once they had cut the man loose from his cage, they’d carried him back, retracing their path through the mountains.

Like clockwork, the night op had gone successfully, according to plan. Too successfully, they’d soon discovered. As the team had crisscrossed the jungle on ancient footpaths, an ambush was waiting. Stewart, in rear guard position, his .308 Remington 700 sniper rifle held to his shoulder, had shuffle-stepped backward, waiting to draw a bead on the first ELN guerilla who showed himself. For an exceptionally large man—six foot five and two hundred eighty pounds of muscle—he’d moved deceptively fast.

Within three hundred yards of where their Blackhawk helicopter waited, a Russian B-40 rocket had sailed overhead and, with an earth-shattering blast, made a direct hit on the tree beside Stewart. Wood splinters and shrapnel had sliced the predawn air in a bloody dance of death. Moments earlier, Liam would have taken the hit.

He had made the first move, opening fire with a steady hail of bullets from his M-60. “We’ve got to get Stewart,” he had screamed as strong arms dragged him aboard the copter.

“He’s gone, Liam,” the team officer, Mike Landis, had said.”

“No, we’ve got to bring him back.” Liam had turned to leap out of the open hatch just as the copter lifted and swerved, narrowly missing another rocket.

The explosion had lit up the ground, revealing scores of guerillas in camouflage fatigues swarming from the jungle. Gunfire had strafed the gray dawn as the Blackhawk pulled away from what was now a burning inferno.

Their mission had been successful. The TALON-6 team had rescued the DEA agent from ELN.

Liam closed his eyes. Four years. He’d thought he’d gotten past the haunting memories that were burned into his soul. Maybe he never would.

Was Stewart a junkie who’d needed an even higher dose of adrenaline to keep feeling good? Or had he taken on the dangerous jobs and fed off the danger to get the job done? And would a real adrenaline addict be able to tell the difference?

WHEN LIAM RETURNED to the living room awhile later, the collie was stretched out on the couch, ears pointed, claiming his territory. “Okay, Bounder. Get up. You’re sleeping on the porch.”

The dog studied him as Liam walked to the porch doorway and pointed to the stuffed rattan settee. The collie bounded playfully on the couch, as if enjoying the game.

Liam’s gaze dropped to the scuffed running shoes lying on the mat. Her shoes. He picked up the right sneaker and examined it. A small pocket, fastened with Velcro, ran along the top of the padded tongue. He ripped open the fastener. There, inside, was a key with a tag. His curiosity rose a notch as he moved toward the living room light and peered at the tag. Sand Dune Motel, 26.

So the mystery lady was staying at the only motel open this time of year in Bellwood. He slid the key into his hip pocket as he strode toward the telephone directory in the hall desk drawer.

Chapter Two

She opened her eyes and stared at the white ceiling. Far off, birds were chirping. She turned her head toward the sound. Tie-back white curtains fluttered at the slightly opened window. The air felt cold and smelled of the sea. She tried to sit up, but when the pounding in her head got worse, she dropped back on the starched pillowcase.

Her hand flew to her forehead, and she was surprised to find a bandage covering a lump on her temple. Her legs ached and she noticed her hands were bandaged, too. Her heart hammered as panic exploded inside her.

Where was she? Why couldn’t she remember how she’d gotten here? Worse, who was she? She raked her mind for answers but found nothing. She stared around the room for clues. Model airplanes hung from the ceiling. Posters of rock stars covered one wall. Black hockey skates and a West Point sports jacket hung from a peg.

What was she doing in a man’s room? The ghostly image of a tall, dark-haired stranger shattered the cobwebs of her mind. He wasn’t a ghost but a real man, the man who had rescued her in the fog. His voice had been low and gentle. I want to help you. Yes, she remembered his voice, deep yet kind. Was this his room?

Why couldn’t she remember anything else? Had she driven here? She couldn’t recall if she owned a car. Another wave of panic shook her and she forced herself to think, but her mind roared like a hollow drum. Uncertainty combated with instinct. Somehow she felt safe here, yet at the same time she knew she was in danger. Until she knew what was going on, how could she trust anyone? She had to get away. She had to run.

She bolted from the bed, almost tripping on the long nightgown she wore. Flannel. Nothing she recognized. On the top of the oak dresser were a pair of jeans, a yellow T-shirt and underwear, all neatly folded. Were they hers? If not, then whose? They didn’t look familiar, but, then, nothing did.

Slowly, she forced her feet to move, not wanting to repeat the thunderbolt of pain through her skull. When her toes reached the hooked rug in the middle of the room, she noticed the mirror over the dresser. Carefully, she inched forward until she could see into the looking glass.

She gave a sharp intake of breath as she stared at herself. Beneath her bandaged forehead, wide green eyes gazed back at her. Long, tangled red hair hung down her shoulders. Despite her scratches and bruises, she didn’t think she was seriously hurt, except for her pounding head. And the panic that she was a virtual stranger!

Who am I? I must have a name! “My name is…” Seconds ticked into minutes as she struggled to remember. She squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to focus. Tears sprang to her eyes as she fought off the panic.

From nowhere came the sharp image of a flash of white light, with the sound of screaming…a woman’s screams.

Danger exploded through her veins. She tasted the metallic fear in her mouth as she remembered the feeling of terror. Run! Run! Run for your life!

She had to get away! Her fingers shook as she jerked the nightgown over her head. Her bandaged hands trembled as she tore into the pile of neatly folded clothing. The fresh smell of laundry soap rushed at her as she yanked the T-shirt over her head and dressed hurriedly in the jeans. Blessedly, they fit. When she’d finished, she pulled her hair back from her face and turned around, searching for her shoes. The sudden movement brought her stomach jumping into her throat. She grabbed on to the side of the dresser until the room stopped spinning. She had to get away before they—before they…what? Who was she afraid of?

Unable to find her shoes, she made her way barefoot to the door. Twisting the knob slowly, she quietly pulled it open and peered up and down the wallpapered corridor. The stairway was a few feet to the left. Listening, she heard nothing except the tick-tick of the grandfather clock at the end of the hallway.

Was she alone in the house? She couldn’t take the chance of being seen. Somehow, she knew that much. She tiptoed toward the stairs. The smooth wood felt cold beneath her tender feet. As she crept downstairs, the third step creaked loudly. She paused, then glanced behind her.

When no one appeared, she continued until she reached the bottom step. Only then did she dare glance around. The living room was to the right; straight ahead was the front door, with a window through which she could see a screened porch and trees beyond the driveway. Her heart hammered in her chest as she tiptoed across the shiny oak floor toward the porch.

“Well, top o’ the morning, Sara Elizabeth Regis.”

Startled, she jumped as a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped out from the living room to block her path. The man in the fog. In daylight, he seemed large enough to fill the doorway. His thumbs were looped in the front pockets of his jeans, and he was naked from the waist up.

Fear shattered her insides as she stared at him. His face would be considered handsome except for those sapphire eyes that glinted dangerously. He was smiling, but his eyes didn’t know it. His face was deeply tanned, as was all of his upper body. A black shadow of a beard covered his strong, sweeping jaw. When he folded his arms across his wide chest, his biceps bulged.

“Let me not forget my manners. I’m Liam O’Shea.” He dangled a key in front of her. “Before I give you back your key, you and I are going for a little ride.”

ARIEL ZIEGLER, known as Ziggy to the family, pulled the Cadillac into the no-parking zone in front of the Sand Dune Motel. Above the door marked Office a vacancy sign flashed on and off. He turned to his brother Vinny, who slouched beside him in the passenger seat. “Stay in the car,” Ziggy muttered. “Leave this to me, see?”

Vinny swung his head up and glared at him. “An’ why the hell should you go an’ not me?”

Ziggy glanced at the rearview mirror and smiled widely, checking his teeth. Satisfied, he frowned back at his brother. “’Cause this job takes finesse.”

“Finesse?” Vinny almost spat the word. “I got finesse!”

Ziggy ignored him as he tugged at the cuffs of his navy jacket and adjusted his gold cuff links. “Stay here with your trap shut and your eyes open. If you see her, come and warn me.”

Vinny folded his arms and slumped farther down in the leather seat. “Hurry back. I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry.” Ziggy slid from the driver’s seat and slammed the car door. He glanced again along the row of nearly vacant motel units. Only six cars were in sight on this side of the building. Perfect. Slight chance anyone would be around to notice, just in case the redhead was still here. If she recognized him, he’d have to act fast and that might spell trouble.

He strolled leisurely up the paved walk toward the glassed entrance. When he saw his reflection in the window, he slicked his hair back with his hand.

The skinny young punk behind the registration desk looked up when Ziggy sauntered to the counter. He chuckled. Hell, this would be like taking a lollipop from a kid.

“Hi there,” Ziggy said easily, placing his hand on the counter as he read the punk’s name tag. Harold. Ziggy flashed his three-carat diamond pinkie ring directly in front of the kid. “Say, Harold. I wonder if you can help me.” Before the youth could answer, Ziggy pressed on. “I found an expensive camera. Foreign job. The owner is a tall redhead.” Ziggy gestured, the universal sign language for a well-built broad. “She’s stacked, if you know what I mean. About twenty-five or so. She left the camera and case along the shore early today. I think she’s stayin’ here.”

“Sorry, sir. That information is strictly confidential.”

Ziggy clenched both fists on the counter. His forearm muscles bulged, straining the seams of his suit.

Harold’s eyes bugged and he swallowed nervously. “Uh, what’s the lady’s name?”

Ziggy swallowed a laugh. “Well, that’s the trouble, Harold. If I knew, I’d call her up myself. But while she was taking pictures of seagulls, I was, ah, watching her.” He smiled for effect. “She has long, long legs and I’ve always been fond of redheads.” He glanced around the alcove where the kid was standing, making sure they were alone. “I was hoping to leave my number, and when she realized that I’d found her camera equipment, well…” He winked, hoping the dumb kid got his drift. “I’m sure the lady would be most appreciative.”

“I’d be happy to hold the camera for her here at the desk. If you’d like to include a note, I’ll be sure she gets it.”

Ziggy bit back a coarse oath. “Just tell me her name and room number, kid. I want to handle this myself.”

Ziggy took another breath as the kid hesitated, deciding whether or not to tell him. Ziggy felt like punching the little creep in the puss. But instead, he pulled a roll of bills from his hip pocket and peeled a C-note from the top. “Here, Harold,” he said, slapping the bill on the counter. “Take your girl out tonight on me.” He winked again, then smiled when the clerk’s eyes widened at the prospect of keeping the hundred-dollar bill.

Harold glanced around the empty reception area, then looked at the crisp bill. He snatched at the cash and slid it into his back pocket. “Just a minute, sir. I’ll print out a copy of her registration form.”

The clerk spun around and punched in some keys at the computer. Within a minute, the printer whirred as the report appeared from the top of the machine.

“Here you are, sir.” The youth darted another glance around the empty lobby before he slid the copy across the counter to him.

Ziggy read her name and room number, then smiled. He pulled out a white card he had previously prepared. “Don’t you forget to give this number to Sara before she checks out, you hear?” He couldn’t quite keep his face straight as he handed the card to the clerk.

“Yes, sir.”

Ziggy’s smile faded and he suddenly glowered. “If she doesn’t call me, I’ll be back, and I’ll collect every dollar from your hide. Understand?”

Harold’s eyes widened, and damn if his skinny face didn’t turn chalky white. Ziggy chuckled as he turned and made his way toward the glass entrance. “Have a nice day, kid!” he yelled over his shoulder before he pushed open the door.

Vinny was playing the car radio when Ziggy climbed back into the front seat. “Shut that off,” he ordered, pulling out his cell phone.

“You’re not the boss,” Vinny muttered, his attention on the numbers that his brother was punching into the phone. Damn, why hadn’t the boss given his phone number to him, too? Vinny scowled, but turned off the radio, more interested in listening to his older brother’s conversation.

“Yeah. It’s me,” Ziggy said into the receiver. “I found her.”

Vinny felt a rush of excitement. He was glad his brother had chosen him as his partner. But he couldn’t let Ziggy know how much this job meant to him. Vinny needed a chance to show his big brother how clever he was. And this job was big. So big that it would sweep them into the big time. When this was over, he’d be known as Vincent Ziegler, not Ziggy Ziegler’s little brother.

Ziggy’s eyes glowed with satisfaction as he nodded. “Sure, boss. You got it.” He looked at Vinny and smiled as he snapped the lid over the phone and slid it in his breast pocket. “We get to whack her.”

Vinny took in a deep breath to cover his excitement. “How?”

Ziggy almost beamed. “Boss says he doesn’t want to know.” His smile widened, white teeth shining. “Still got those jack-in-the-boxes in the trunk from your last job?”

Vinny tried to act cool. “Yeah.”

Ziggy nodded. “Then let’s get to work.” He glanced at the printout, then at the blue Ford Sedan parked at the end of a line of cars behind the motel. It took him only seconds to confirm the license number. “Come on, Vinny. Let’s see how good you really are. I’ll give you three minutes to wire that bomb under the hood.”

“SARA REGIS? You’re saying that’s my name?” She felt a rush of hope.

Liam’s dark blue eyes looked almost black when he shot her a sidelong glance from the driver’s seat as the red convertible tore down the road. “You tell me,” he said finally.

His answer confused her. Earlier, the man had seemed willing to help her. Now it seemed as if he didn’t trust her.

“I—I don’t know who I am. If you know anything about me, please tell me.” She studied him, her hands fighting the long windblown strands of red hair that blew in her face. Finally she wrapped her hair into a thick rope, aware of his darting glances as she tucked the coil inside the neck of her T-shirt.

The way his eyes darkened as he watched her made her breath catch. Sara became aware that the T-shirt she wore seemed snug against the full rise of her breasts.

His hands tensed at the wheel, but he kept his voice even. “I called the motel where you’re staying. It’s down the road about five miles, in case you’re wondering.” He darted a glance at her, as if waiting for her reaction. When she gave none, he continued. “The desk clerk wouldn’t tell me the occupant’s name in unit 26, so I asked him to ring your room and he put me through to your voice mail. By that time it was a little after 6:00 a.m. I figured if someone was staying with you, they would have answered the phone. So I drove over and looked around.”

“You went inside my room?”

His dark eyebrows lifted at her surprise. “So you remember staying there?”

She struggled to recall anything that might help her. “No, I—I don’t.” The words caught in her throat.

His large hands squeezed the steering wheel. “As I said, I looked around. Your bag was on the bed.” He took his right hand from the wheel and slid it inside his jacket pocket, then pulled out a slim leather billfold and handed it to her. “See for yourself.” He waited for her to flick open the wallet.

“Your driver’s license says you’re Sara Elizabeth Regis. The photo matches you—unless you have a twin sister.”

Sara studied the photo ID. “It looks like me.”

“The slacks and jacket I found hanging in the closet were size eight.” His deep sapphire gaze raked over her again. “I’d say that was about right.”

“Could you tell if someone else was staying in the room?”

His gaze remained on the road. “I’d say you were alone. The bed hadn’t been disturbed.”

Her mind tried to piece together the information. Her clothes? Would she recognize them even if they were hers? She glanced back at the driver’s license. “Sara Elizabeth Regis,” she read aloud, hoping the name would sound familiar. “One hundred ninety-six East Monroe Street, East Bennington, Massachusetts.”

“East Bennington is the other side of Boston,” he said. “About a four-hour drive from here.”

“Four hours?” She glanced out the windshield, taking in his words. Her gaze drifted across the endless miles of sand dunes and patches of barberry thickets that stretched toward the sea. She searched for anything that might trigger a memory, but nothing looked familiar.

“If I’m from East Bennington, then what brought me here? It’s too early for the tourist season. Why would I come all this way? Was I meeting someone?”

“Maybe if you try to think back to when I found you… Do you remember anything at all?”

“I remember you and the two kind women who took care of me. I remember a dog—a collie, I think.” She looked at him. “Or did I dream it?”

His eyes were sympathetic. “No, you weren’t dreaming. After I found you wandering along the coast road this morning, I brought you to our family cottage on the point. Bridget, my oldest sister, and Willie, the doctor next door, took care of you. My sister enjoys taking a week off from her practice in Boston to stay at the cottage while getting the place ready for the summer.”

Sara couldn’t help noticing how handsome Liam looked when he wasn’t frowning. Unwelcome shivers of awareness made her arms tingle. “Your sister Bridget,” she said, distracting herself from the inappropriate response she was having to this man beside her. “Does she have a family?”

“Her husband, David, and her kids will be coming later this morning, along with most of the O’Shea tribe. I have six sisters, all married. I was the only boy.” He shot her a smile, and her stomach fluttered.

Was he married? He didn’t have a gold band on his left hand, but that didn’t necessarily mean… She shook her head. “Does your family get together often?”

“We try. Today, almost all the clan will be congregating for the baptism of the newest member.”

She liked the way his eyes warmed when he spoke of his family. What was the matter with her? She might be married or at least engaged. Why was she reacting like this?

“Do you have…children?” she asked.

His lips curved, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “No, much to my sisters’ chagrin.” His smile broadened. “Of course, they would like to see me marry first.”

Something in the way he said that made her cheeks warm. “You and your sister have been very kind. I don’t think I’ve thanked you properly. I’m very grateful it was you who found me.”

“Try not to worry. Maybe once you see the motel and your things, your memory will come back.”

The thought of leaving the safety of Liam’s car and going into a strange place suddenly filled her with unexplained panic—at something unseen, yet so terrifying that she had to look away to keep Liam from noticing. She fought through the panic, but it was hopeless. Maybe if she concentrated on what she could remember…

Her gaze studied the corded muscles along Liam’s tanned forearms as he gripped the wheel. An image of how he had looked earlier this morning when he’d practically jumped out at her, half-naked, flashed through her mind. He was definitely athletic, with incredibly broad shoulders, muscular biceps and forearms. The thick black hair covering his wide chest had trailed down to a V inside his jeans. She felt her cheeks blush at the thought. She turned her face away, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

Dear God, but this man was attractive. Maybe she didn’t have the right to look at any man like that. Was she married? Did she have a lover? Children? Her gaze flew to her own hand. No ring. No watch on either wrist. No jewelry of any kind. Nothing.

Her hands weren’t callused. What did she do for a living? Was she good at what she did? Why would she think of such a thing?

Sara turned toward him. “Did you say the older woman who helped your sister take care of me was called Dr. Willie?” She shook her head. “It’s all so fuzzy. Like a dream.”

He nodded. “Dr. Wilhelmina Prescott. She’s an internist who summers here on the island who still makes house calls. Dr. Willie is a legend around these parts.” He raised his brows and glanced at her. “You weren’t very cooperative. You refused to go to the hospital. Willie and my sister think you should be x-rayed, and I was hoping that later you’d let me take you to the E.R.”

“No!” Gasping, she clutched the dashboard with one hand and the armrest with the other. Her eyes squeezed shut as she fought the white panic, like a snowstorm in her mind.

“Are you okay?” He pulled the car to the side of the road and parked, his eyes filled with genuine concern. “Take deep breaths. You’re having a panic attack.”

She struggled for control, gulping air. “I—I don’t know what’s wrong with me. All I know is that if I go to the hospital, something terrible will happen.” Even to herself, she knew her reasoning wasn’t making sense.

Liam put his strong arm around her shoulders. She leaned into his hard chest, fighting the overwhelming terror with his comforting embrace. Was she a fool to trust him? She didn’t know. Yet something about him made her want to believe she could. Ignoring her pounding heart through willpower alone, she forced herself to focus on the man beside her.

She breathed in the clean scent of his aftershave. His black leather jacket was open, and against her cheek, the soft cotton fabric of his black T-shirt felt comforting. Blue-black stubble covered his strong jaw. A thin scar creased his chin left of the cleft. She stared at his firm, chiseled lips. Lips made for laughing, for teasing, for kissing.

She blinked free of the trance and pushed away. “I—I’m okay,” she said, her voice a scratchy whisper.

His piercing blue gaze questioned her. “You’re not okay. Let me take you to emergency.”

“No!” Sara took in several deep gasps, aware of his arm still curled firmly about her shoulders. “Maybe later,” she added, not wanting to appear hysterical. “First, let’s go to the motel. Maybe if I see something familiar…” She held on to that hope as she stole another sidelong glance at him.

His arm uncurled from her shoulders, and he straightened, restarting the engine. The wind tousled his thick black hair as he pulled the convertible onto the road.

She drew a wisp of hair from her face and turned to stare out the windshield.

“The motel isn’t much farther,” he said finally. “Officially, we’re on an island, Bellwood Island, which is connected to the mainland by a causeway. The island is surrounded by sand dunes, which makes a great tourist attraction. The town of Bellwood Harbor has a winter population of 260, swelling to 20,000 between the Fourth of July and Labor Day.”

She glanced at the lobster boats bobbing in the harbor. “Nothing seems familiar.” She stared out the window, her head reeling in an effort to remember anything. Along Main Street, empty colonial homes and vacant boutiques lined both sides, silently waiting for their owners to return with the warm weather. Empty flower boxes hung from the storefront windows, waiting for summer’s red geraniums, blue verbenas and white petunias to spill from the planters. An empty flagpole stood in the park square, and she could imagine Old Glory waving proudly as the Fourth of July parade streamed past.

So she knew about small New England towns, after all. Was her memory coming back? The idea filled her with excitement and dread. Dear God, why was everything so confusing?

Judging by the dashboard clock, it had taken them less than five minutes to drive through the village. Now more sand dunes stretched along both sides of the road. To the east, the Atlantic glistened, a blue horizon. When her eyes turned back to the road, an L-shaped single-story building appeared ahead. She stared blankly at the white block letters painted across the black slanted roof: SAND DUNE MOTEL.

Now maybe she’d find some answers.

“NOTHING LOOKS FAMILIAR?” Liam asked, relieved that his voice didn’t betray the skepticism he was feeling. From what Willie had said, Sara hadn’t suffered enough of a physical head trauma to produce complete amnesia. He found it hard to believe she couldn’t remember something.

He jammed his fists into his pockets and studied her as she examined the slacks, cotton turtleneck and wind-breaker hanging inside the closet.

“I obviously wasn’t planning to stay long,” she said finally, removing the jacket from the hanger and sliding her arm through the sleeve. So far, she’d said very little about what was going on inside that lovely head of hers.

Damn, but he couldn’t figure her out. Was she for real, or was she putting on an Academy Award performance? Sara was hardly his idea of a covert operator, yet he couldn’t rule it out.

Only last week, Interpol had notified the TALON-6 headquarters in New York City that a terrorist had been arrested in London and plea-bargained with them, offering information about a plan to steal the Land-Net 17, Liam’s latest design for an electronic security net. Was Sara part of that plan? He thought of that silky red hair and those long, incredible legs. Hell, everyone including the local priest knew that Liam O’Shea had a weakness for tall, beautiful redheads.

Anything was possible. Until the schematics for his security net were safely in the hands of the Defense Department’s Advanced Research Projects Agency, Liam knew he couldn’t leave anything to chance. Especially a disarming redhead who looked as though she’d just stepped out of his most erotic dream.

He felt like a bastard for doubting her, yet he wouldn’t put it past the terrorist mentality to think they could infiltrate TALON-6 with a woman like Sara. He’d made no secret of the fact that he was a self-proclaimed protector of alluring, downtrodden women. Especially a woman with sexy-as-sin looks combined with innocence and vulnerability. He was the first to admit it would be his favorite way to go down.

She turned toward him as she took a seat on the edge of the king-size bed. Her fingers sifted through the meager contents of a straw bag. She was truly stunning, he decided. Her hair hung down her back in a lustrous curtain of red. Long eyelashes swept her cheekbones as she studied the set of keys, the billfold and a tube of lipstick, as though she could piece together the framework of her life from these few articles.

What must it be like to lose a lifetime of personal memories? What was it like to feel mentally naked and completely vulnerable? He felt a tug of compassion for what she must be going through. Yet how could he possibly imagine the depth of her fear and panic?

Was there a special man in her life? Had the guy told her how very desirable she was? For a brief, insane moment, Liam wanted to be that man.

He swallowed against the surge of heated desire. He’d better get some sleep. He was becoming delusional. He shook away the thought and strode toward the window. Across the road he could see an expanse of sun-bleached sand, then cold gray sea for miles. A sailboat tilted back and forth in the breeze. For an odd moment, Liam was reminded of when he was six years old and had found a stray kitten after Labor Day along the sand dunes. Some bastard had abandoned the animal. His mom had let him keep it and he’d called it Tiger. He glanced back at Sara, whose head was bent over the assorted items in her hand. Would tender loving care heal her as it had his pet?

She must have sensed him watching her because she lifted her head and that megawatt green-eyed gaze fixed on him. He fought back the urge to pick her up and cradle her in his arms.

She wasn’t a lost kitten. And until he received the results of the background check that he’d asked his TALON-6 partner, Clete Lawton, to run, Liam needed to keep his emotional distance.

“If you’re about through,” he said, giving his watch a glance, “I think we should leave.”

“Nothing looks familiar,” she said, brushing her hair away from her face. “It’s as if these things belong to someone else.” She put the gold cap back on the tube of coral lipstick, then opened the billfold and stared again at the driver’s license and her photo. She lifted her gaze to his, and if she was acting, he sure as hell admired her talent.

Still, she hadn’t noticed one thing. He picked up her straw bag from where she’d left it on the bed and pulled out the picture of a man in his early thirties, standing in front of a palm tree. Liam had found the photo hidden in a side pocket in the lining of her bag when he’d gone through her possessions earlier that morning. At the time, he’d wondered if the photograph would trigger her memory. “Know who he is?” Liam asked her.

She stared at the photo, then shook her head. “No.”

“Is he Gregory Urquhart?”

“I—I don’t know. Should I?”

“Urquhart is listed as the person to contact in case of emergency.” Liam lifted a brow as he showed her the ID card inside her wallet. “Think this is an emergency, Sara?” He couldn’t quite hide the sarcasm from his voice.

Her lips opened slightly. “I don’t know. Y-yes. Yes, it is.”

Was Urquhart her ex-husband? Lover? Why else would she be hiding his photo? Was she running from him? Or to him?

Sara put her head in her hands. “Liam, I’m trying the best I can. I don’t know why I came here. Was I passing through? Was I planning to meet someone?” She leaned over and reached for the phone on the bedside table. She glanced at Urquhart’s telephone number, then lifted the receiver.

Liam stopped her. “If you’re calling Urquhart from this phone, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Why not? He must know who I am.”

“Okay, but let’s not use this phone.” Liam took the receiver from her fingers. “I’ve got a cell phone in my car. Why don’t you pack your things, and if you want, I’ll drive you back to the cottage? You can call Urquhart on the way. By the time we get there, my family will have left for church. The place will be quiet and you can rest.”

She rose, picked up the set of car keys from the top of the dresser. “I obviously own a car. I’ll follow you back to the cottage.”

“Good idea.” Liam slid the mirrored closet door open and pulled out a small floral piece of luggage that he’d seen when he first checked out her room. Opening it on the bed, he stood back.

She pulled a blue, long-sleeved T-shirt from a hanger and began folding it into the suitcase. “I feel like these are someone else’s clothes and I’m stealing them,” she said with a weak smile. When she looked away, a jab of sympathy charged through him and he had to physically stop himself from touching her.

“Don’t worry, Sara,” he said instead. “The answers will come when you’re ready. Just relax.” He picked up the photo of the smiling young man and slipped it inside her open bag.

“Can you guess why you might have come to Bellwood?” he asked as she finished packing.

“No.” She gave a slight shrug as she closed the lid of the suitcase.

No? Not even a feeble attempt at a guess? He felt slightly irritated with himself. Should he have let her call Urquhart? Or would that have signaled her accomplice that she had made contact with Liam? He was beginning to doubt his own instincts. Was she playing him? Well, damn it, there was one way to find out, once and for all.

Something flickered in those pretty green irises when he came over and pulled her to him. His body brushed hers, and he felt her tremble when he wrapped his arms around her. She didn’t resist when he pulled her closer. He found himself breathing in the scent of the sea in her hair.

Her breath caught; he felt her stiffen, but her eyelids fluttered shut. Morning sunlight slanted through the window, making a reddish halo of her hair. He could feel her heart hammering in her chest, or was it his own?

He was afraid that if he kissed her she might bolt out of the room, into her car and out of his life. That is, if she was innocent…

And if she wasn’t? He took in a slow breath as he dragged the tip of his tongue along her full lower lip. Testing. Teasing. Taunting.

She didn’t bolt. She didn’t throw herself into his arms, either. Those ripe lips parted slightly, and he was lost.

He hadn’t expected her mouth to be so warm, so sweet, so trusting. Kissing her was like slipping into a deep, delightful abyss. The kiss deepened, and the groan he heard vibrating low was his own.

This was no femme fatale. This was a flesh-and-blood woman. A beautiful, appealing woman who had stepped out of his fantasies and into his world. But at what cost? A woman like this could be more dangerous to a man than a thousand land mines.

He released her and stepped back, wanting to shake off the fog that had settled over his brain. What a foolish thing to do. He should say something. Instead, he made a helpless gesture with his hands.

Her green eyes were wide, confused. He made fists of his fingers to keep himself from pulling back a glistening red strand from her cheek. “I’ll wait for you outside,” he said, ignoring the underlying reason that he had to leave. If he didn’t get out of that room, he’d take her into his arms again.

Chapter Three

“Thank you, Ms. Regis,” said the desk clerk as he slid Sara’s credit card through the machine. Liam couldn’t help noticing the young man’s appreciative glances at her from behind the counter as he finished preparing her checkout statement.

If Sara noticed, she gave no sign. Nor did she seem aware of her exceptional beauty. Yes, she was beautiful. Not in that flashy, glittery way he usually found attractive in women. But this woman had skin the color of clotted cream, and eyes as green as the first shamrock to greet the April sunshine.

Hell, when the rest of his family, especially his other sisters, arrived this morning, they would take one look at Sara Regis and think that he’d finally brought home “the one.”

“Oh, we found your camera,” the clerk said to Sara, almost as an afterthought.

She looked up from signing her credit card statement. “My camera?”

“Yeah. A man stopped in here a little more than an hour ago.”

“Did this man have a name?” Liam asked.

“No, but he left his phone number.” The clerk turned and pulled a plain business card from the mail slot for room 26. “Feel free to use the house phone, Ms. Regis.”

Liam reached for the card just as Sara did. “Thanks,” he said, snatching it from the clerk’s fingers.” He looked at the youth. “Where’s the camera?”

“The man didn’t leave it.” The clerk shrugged. “He wanted the lady to call him first.”

The hair on the back of Liam’s neck stood up. Something didn’t sound right about this. He looked at Sara. “It will be quicker if you call from the car.”

Her expression didn’t give a hint of what she was thinking. “Okay.” She looked back at the clerk. “Thank you.”

When they were outside, she snatched the card from his hand. “I’m not helpless.” Her green eyes glittered with agitation. “I’m perfectly capable of calling the number myself.”

“I know you’re not helpless,” Liam said, “and I’m sorry if I gave that impression.” He was overreacting, something he never did, but he couldn’t ignore the possibility that this man who had her camera was connected with whatever had terrified her. Liam whipped out his cell phone and gave it to Sara. “Here, why don’t you call the number? Maybe if you hear the man’s voice, it will trigger your memory.”

Sara bit her lip as she took the phone. “I hope so. Maybe he knows why I came here this weekend.”

Liam’s uneasiness increased as he watched her punch in the numbers. She acted calm, yet her shoulders stiffened, a mannerism he’d noticed before when she’d been overly tense.

She put the receiver to her ear. A few seconds later, her green eyes widened. “I don’t understand.” She repeated the number on the card. “A man left me this number to call. He said he had found my camera.”

Her face paled as she listened to the conversation on the other end of the line. Liam’s senses went into full alert. “What’s the matter?” he asked.

She handed him the phone without explanation. He grabbed it from her trembling fingers.

“Who is this?” he demanded, almost shouting into the mouthpiece.

“I already told the lady. This is the Bellwood Funeral Home.”

“Did a man from there go to the Sand Dune Motel early this morning and say he’d found a camera?”

“Like I told the lady, no. What is this, some kind of joke?”

“Let me speak to the owner.”

“You’re speaking to the owner, and I have no time for games,” he said indignantly, then hung up.

Liam clicked off the phone, then caught Sara’s gaze. She shook her head, glancing at the business card in her hand. “I know I dialed correctly. The man verified the number written on the card.” She tucked the card into her bag. “Maybe we should go there and question each employee?”

Liam didn’t want to squelch her hopes, but the whole camera story sounded fishy. If someone had found a camera, why not leave it for her at the desk? Maybe Sara had a point. If they spoke to the other employees, someone might recognize her. “Good idea. Let’s go,” he said.

A few minutes later, after they had stowed Sara’s bag in the trunk of Liam’s sports car, they walked around the motel to the rear parking lot.

She held her fingers over her eyes, squinting into the bright sunlight. “Omigod. I have no idea which car is mine.”

He looked at the cars parked in a row along the back of the building, then at the keys in her hand. “No problem. You have one of those new automatic ignition starters on your key ring. Just click the button, and whichever car starts is yours.”

She pulled back her hair from her face as she studied the keys in her palm, then smiled at him. “You’re a genius,” she said, and pressed the starter button.

SARA FELT THE EXPLOSION before her brain processed what was happening. A force like a giant fist jerked her from the pavement and carried her toward the motel with the impact of a freight train. She felt herself cannon through the air and land with Liam, entwined in his strong embrace, against an evergreen hedge.

Heat burned her skin. Corrosive smoke filled her lungs. She choked on the acidic fumes as she peeked over his shoulder at what was left of her car.

The row of vehicles in which it had been parked now looked like a mound of burning, twisted metal, a smoking inferno. Although the explosion had occurred several seconds ago, plumes of black smoke, flying metal and debris still spiraled through the air.

“What happened?” she asked, her ears ringing.

Liam held her, frantically searching her face. “Are you hurt?” Pure terror edged his voice.

She glanced down at herself and realized her body was shaking uncontrollably. “My ears…I can barely hear you.” Then she realized he might be hurt, too. “Liam?” she cried, her voice rising. “Are you okay?” She ran trembling fingers over his face, her heart hammering with fear.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He winced in pain as he moved beneath her, then shot her a crooked smile. “Really, I’m okay.”

She stared at him warily. He was rubbing his shoulder. Black particles of soot clung to his skin, but he looked…incredibly wonderful. Her body sagged with relief, but she couldn’t suppress the shudder that ran through her.

“We’re both lucky,” he said as he picked an evergreen needle from her hair. “We were far enough away from the explosion to keep from being burned, and the hedge broke our fall.” He stood to help her to her feet, glancing over at the fire, which was burning out of control.

Several cleaning women in white uniforms hurried outside, screaming and shouting excitedly. Guests burst from their rooms, their yells adding to the din. A man, dressed only in striped pajama bottoms dashed barefoot from the door of his motel unit into the street.

“What could have happened?” Sara asked, unable to take her eyes from the blazing inferno.

“We’ll know for sure once the police arrive and the bomb squad gives their report, but I think your car was wired.”

She swung around to face him. “Wired? You mean someone wanted to blow up my car?” Her face froze as the possibility struck her.

Someone wanted to kill her. If she had turned on the ignition when she was sitting in the car, she’d be dead now.

Panic shot through her like a bolt of lightning. “I’ve got to get away,” she cried, pulling out of Liam’s grasp. She staggered a few steps before his large hands grabbed her shoulders.

Liam was reminded of when he’d first found her, lost and afraid and trying to run away from some unseen terror. He held her, wanting desperately to find a way to calm her. Finally she stopped struggling and looked up at him, her eyes wide with terror.

“If someone is trying to kill me, I’m endangering you, too. You could have been killed.”

“Don’t worry about me,” he said. “Come on, let’s go to my car. It’s lucky I parked by the front door.” As they made their way around the motel he smiled to himself. When was the last time a woman had cared about his safety? That is, a woman with whom he didn’t share the same gene pool? He was surprised to find he liked the feeling.

As they neared the corner of the building, the desk clerk burst into view, nearly running into them. He stopped in his tracks when he saw the smoking inferno in the rear parking lot. His jaw dropped, then he turned to Liam and Sara. “My God, look at you! What the hell happened?”

Ignoring his question, Liam asked instead, “What did that man with the camera look like?”

The desk clerk shaded his eyes with a hand as he gazed at Liam. “He was almost as tall as you. Black, shiny hair, like Elvis Presley’s.” The clerk made a disapproving face. “Heavy in the shoulders and arms, like a wrestler. And he had a diamond ring the size of a doorknob.”

Liam frowned. “Did he speak with the local accent?”

“No, more New Jersey or the Bronx. My sister’s husband is from the Bronx and he talks like this guy did.”

Now we’re getting somewhere, Liam thought. “Anything else?”

“He had long arms. He lumbered when he walked, like he was skating almost.” The clerk scratched his head. “I saw his car. Yeah, a classy set of wheels.”

Liam looked up. “Did you get the license number?”

“Er, no. I was too busy looking at the Caddy. Black. Tinted glass. And the fanciest set of gold hubcaps I ever saw.”

“Did he mention where I’d lost my camera?” Sara asked, her expression so trusting that Liam felt like a jerk for doubting her earlier.

The desk clerk thought for a moment. “He said you’d left the camera along the shore. You’d been photographing birds.” The clerk scratched his head again. “Funny, now that I think of it, it was foggy when you left. Not a good morning for taking pictures.”

She cocked her head. “Did you see me leave?” Her voice rose with excitement.

He shook his head. “I didn’t see you leave. I was on duty when you checked in, don’t you remember?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “You came back after seeing your room and asked if you had any messages. When I said no, you paced back and forth in front of the entrance, like you were expecting someone. You seemed to be in an awful hurry.”

The howl of a police car sounded in the distance.

Liam put his arm around Sara’s shoulder. “Come on, honey. Let’s go wait for the police.”

THE LOBSTER TRAP DINER was the best restaurant on Bellwood Island. It was also the only restaurant open this time of year.

“Two coffees,” Liam called out to the fry cook as he followed Sara toward the back of the room. The place was deserted except for a middle-aged, gray-haired couple who were engrossed in reading the Sunday edition of the Boston Globe, which lay sprawled across the table of their booth.

Sara chose the rear booth, beside a window overlooking the ocean. He watched her gaze flick over the plastic-covered menu. Her skin looked translucent in the morning light reflected off the water. She held herself with a rigid stillness that he’d come to recognize. Considering what she’d just been through, she was holding up better than he expected.

After they had filed their statements with the police, she had cleaned up in the ladies’ room, changing into the turtleneck shirt and slacks that she’d brought from the motel. Now, sitting across from him, scanning the menu, Sara gave no hint that less than an hour ago she’d escaped death from a car bombing. But he knew that beneath that quiet surface she was as brittle as glass.

Maybe she’s not as brittle as you think, O’Shea. Covert operators trained by military insurgent groups can be cold-blooded killers and appear as innocent as lambs. If Sara was what he thought she might be, she could know as much about and be as experienced with explosives as he was.

Yeah, well, maybe she was telling the truth. Maybe she was just what she seemed—an innocent victim who needed him.

Innocent? Maybe the car bomb had been staged to make her appear a victim. She might have clicked the ignition starter in plenty of time without his prompting. After all, the pieces had already been put into place: the desk clerk, the story about a man finding her camera, the phone call to the funeral home. What if the car explosion was only a ploy to gain Liam’s trust?

Damn, he’d gotten so tangled up in Sara’s bedroom eyes and long legs that he didn’t know what to believe. He wanted to reach out and rub his thumb across the skin at the corners of her eyes, smoothing it. Instead, he balled his hands in his lap.

Brenda, the pretty, brown-haired waitress, interrupted his thoughts as she approached with two steaming mugs of black coffee. She gave Sara an assessing glance, then turned a beaming smile on Liam. “Been a long time since we’ve seen you, sweetheart,” she said, placing the mugs on the tabletop between them. “Will you be staying in town for a while?”

“Hi, Brenda.” Liam gave her a polite smile but didn’t answer her question. He looked at Sara. “You must be hungry. How does the house special sound?”

Sara shrugged. “Fine.”

Liam nodded to Brenda. “Make that two.”

When she left, Liam picked up a spoon and stirred his coffee. “I think we need to talk about what happened,” he said, noting that Sara’s gaze remained on her mug.

She jerked her head up. “What do you want me to say? One minute I feel calm, yet when I look at my hands, they’re shaking so badly I can’t hold a spoon.”

“Hey, anyone would feel like that considering what you’ve been through.” Get a grip, O’Shea, he told himself harshly. Sara’s innocence and vulnerability were having a critical effect on what passed for his brain. He had to find a way to put his doubts about her to rest.

He ran a finger along the rim of his cup, choosing his next words carefully. If she was a covert operator, he knew of a way to test her. “Well, for starters, I think you need my protection.”

Her brow furrowed. “Protection?”

“I’m offering my professional services. This is what I do for a living.”

“You said you worked for a security firm,” she said, as though not convinced.

“I do. I also freelance.” When she continued to look puzzled, he added, “I take on clients who are in trouble. In your case, I’ll find out who put that bomb in your car and why. TALON-6, the security and surveillance agency I work for, will help cut through the police red tape. You’ll have protection 24/7 while we get to the bottom of this. I’m offering you something I don’t think you should refuse.”

She took a deep breath as though considering. He expected her to act fearful and, with a bit of further encouragement from him, agree with open arms to his offer.

Instead, she studied him cautiously, as though he were a bug under a microscope. “What if I can’t afford your rates? I might be unemployed for all I know.”

“My rates are flexible. You can pay what and when you can.” His smile, he hoped, was irresistible enough to get her to say yes.

He watched her consider his offer. Damn those green eyes and that yard of red hair. She was definitely his type, and that meant trouble. His vision of the perfect woman falling into his life, needing a protector. What a setup.

Sara slanted him a glance. “What if I hire you by the day?”

“By the day?” Where in the hell had she come up with that?

“Yes,” she continued. “I was thinking that if we can’t find the man who drives the Cadillac with the gold hubcaps, maybe the man whose name is on my ID card, Gregory Urquhart, can help us. I think we should call him.”

Liam had no idea what to make of her. “Okay, and then what?”

“Let’s take this one day at a time.”

Damn, just when he thought he was beginning to figure her out, she threw him another curve. “Okay, you’ve got yourself a protector. For one day.”

She smiled as though satisfied, then the smile faded. “One more thing.” Her cheeks grew pink and she lowered her lashes. “Our relationship must remain professional.” She shifted position and fiddled with her napkin. Finally her lashes rose and that green gaze shot straight through him. “Just because I’ve hired you doesn’t mean that I’m going to…sleep with you.”

Bull’s-eye. Arrow straight through his male ego. “What gave you the idea that I wanted to—” Then it hit him. The kiss. Of course. “I’m sorry if I acted inappropriately,” he said, not meaning a word of it. “But as I remember, you kissed me, too.”

Her full lips twitched as she studied him. “Well, now that our curiosity about each other has been satisfied, we should have no more problems sticking to business.”

So she was only satisfying her curiosity, was she?

He refused to acknowledge the sting of disappointment he felt. Well, he’d never begged a woman before, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to start now.

Liam forced a smile. “No problem whatsoever.”

She leaned back, her mouth curved into a tight smile of her own. “Then I accept your offer. But I feel guilty for taking you away from your family.” She sat up suddenly. “What time is your niece’s christening?”

“Not until one o’clock. Don’t worry. I have plenty of time. Maybe you’ll be able to lie down and rest while my family is in church.”

“What about you?” Sara’s voice softened with concern. “You must be exhausted.”

“I’m fine,” he said with a shrug. “Besides, I don’t need a lot of sleep.”

“I’m really sorry,” Sara said, her voice soft as her gaze fell to his ripped jacket, the scratches on his hands and wrists. “You keep rubbing your shoulder. Are you sure you’re all right?”

Before he could answer, Brenda returned, carrying two plates filled with bacon, eggs, toast and fried potatoes. The appetizing aroma made his mouth water. After she left, he watched Sara stare at the mound of food in front of her.

“Is everything a blank, or can you remember if you like bacon and eggs?” Liam asked.

She smiled faintly. “A blank, I’m afraid. But this food looks delicious.”

At this moment he believed her. If she was acting, then heaven help him, he was a goner.

“Should we call Gregory Urquhart?” she asked in between bites. Liam noticed that she had placed beside her plate the photo of the smiling man Liam had found inside the lining of her bag.

He pulled out his cell phone and set it in front of her. “No better time than the present.”

She glanced at the phone, then back at him. “I’d rather you spoke to him. Do you mind?”

“Are you sure?” He couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice. “Maybe if you heard his voice—”

“I don’t know why, but I’d rather you spoke to him first.”

He shrugged, then took the ID card from her fingers. He recognized the area code as central Massachusetts. He punched in Urquhart’s number, watching her as she stared out the window at the rolling breakers.

The connection went through and a woman answered on the second ring. When she called Urquhart to the phone, Liam heard children’s laughter and a dog barking in the distance. Obviously Urquhart was a family man.

What if he was cheating on his wife with Sara? Was that why she wanted Liam to call? In case the wife answered, a man asking to speak to her husband wouldn’t arouse suspicion.

“Urquhart,” a baritone voice said a few seconds later.

Liam gave a brief nuts-and-bolts explanation of the situation. Urquhart gasped. “Sara’s all right, isn’t she?”

The guy sounded convincing, Liam noted. “Yeah, she’s fine. A doctor checked her out, but she’s having residual memory problems.” He hoped he was making the situation sound light. Until Liam knew more, he trusted no one. If Sara was telling the truth and the car bomb explosion wasn’t a trap for him, then she was in serious danger. The fewer people who knew how vulnerable she was, the better. Liam’s suspicions of Urquhart were purely professional, he assured himself.

“How do I know you’re who you say you are?” Urquhart demanded accusingly.

Liam frowned as he watched Sara sip her coffee. “Here, let the lady tell you.” He held out the phone. Her lips tightened to a firm line and her hands clasped into fists. When he thought she would finally refuse, she reached for the phone with trembling fingers.

Chapter Four

“Hello?” Sara’s voice was barely a whisper.

“Sara, are you all right?” She strained to remember anything familiar about Urquhart’s voice, but failed. However, she felt relieved to hear the warmth and friendliness in his tone.

“What are you doing on the Cape?” Urquhart asked urgently. “You didn’t say anything on Friday about going away for the weekend.”

Disappointment wrenched her. She’d hoped he could tell her why she’d come to Bellwood Island. “Mr. Urquhart, I—I have a headache and I can’t speak to you for very long. But I’d appreciate your cooperation—”

“Mr. Urquhart? Why all the formality, Sara?”

She struggled to remember his first name. “Gregory,” she said finally. “In what capacity do you know me?”

“Dear God, Sara, what’s going on?”

“Please, er, Gregory. Just answer my questions?”

She heard him take a deep breath. “Very well, Sara. You are good friends with my wife, Linda, and me. You teach freshman English and history at Smith Bordman Academy, the same private school at which I’m the administrator. Since your grandmother’s passing, I’ve been like a father to you.”

“My grandmother? What about my parents?”

“Oh my God, Sara.” Now the voice was compassionate, as though he realized she indeed had a memory problem. “Your parents are dead. Your mother died in an auto accident when you were a child, then your father died some years later. You were raised by your grandmother, and lived with her until her fatal stroke a few months ago.”

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