“I don’t understand…”

Tess looked up at detective Ryan Hill, who regarded her with such empathy that it crumbled what little control she had left and she swayed on her feet again. Only this time, he caught her elbows in his strong hands and held her steady.

“Is she…going to be okay?” she murmured, wiping away the tears.

“The doctor said he thinks there’s a good chance she’ll pull through.”

“Has the driver come forward? Have you found him yet?”

“There are a thousand white vans in New Harbor, Miss Mays. Without a license plate…” Detective Hill’s voice trailed off as he ran a hand through his black, glossy hair. “There’s a whole lot you need to know.”

Tess looked away from his gaze, staring at the bank of monitors, then at the face that was at once familiar and foreign—her twin sister. Her twin. All those years of loneliness and she’d had a twin the whole time….

My Sister, Myself
Alice Sharpe

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to my sister, Mary Shumate.

Not a twin, but just as close to my heart.

I would like to thank Arnold Sharpe, Joseph Sharpe and

Jennifer Jones for their patience, support and expertise.

I love you all.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Alice Sharpe met her husband-to-be on a cold, foggy beach in Northern California. One year later they were married. Their union has survived the rearing of two children, a handful of earthquakes registering over 6.5, numerous cats and a few special dogs, the latest of which is a yellow Lab named Annie Rose. Alice and her husband now live in a small rural town in Oregon, where she devotes the majority of her time to pursuing her second love, writing.

Alice loves to hear from readers. You can write her at P.O. Box 755, Brownsville, OR 97327. SASE for reply is appreciated.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Tess Mays—A fateful phone call disrupts her safe existence. Will she take up her long-lost twin sister’s struggle to prove her dead father innocent?

Ryan Hill—A detective with the New Harbor police department, Ryan is committed to protecting both of his late partner’s daughters. Trouble is, one is in a coma and the other is turning into a wonder woman right before his eyes.

Katie Fields—Tess’s twin. What did she uncover before being struck down by a hit-and-run driver?

Matt Fields—His suspicious death in a house fire provides the catalyst that brings his long-separated daughters back together.

Caroline Mays—Tess and Katie’s mother. But why did she keep her children apart and where is she now?

Nelson Lingford—What’s the acute businessman’s role in the fire that destroyed his stepmother’s home?

Madeline Lingford—Would this crippled widow commit murder to protect her stepson?

Irene Woodall—The art dealer has obviously become Katie’s confidant within the Lingford household. How can Tess circumnavigate her to get at the truth?

Vince Desota—His greed has all but destroyed his life, and he’ll stop at nothing to get back at the man he blames for his failures.

Clint Doyle—A burly bodyguard who takes his job seriously. The question is: how seriously?

Jim Kinsey—A former Lingford employee, will he stop at nothing to get what he wants?

Georges—Irene’s assistant. Why is he lying so low?

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

Prologue

Juggling an unwieldy umbrella and a cell phone, Katie Fields punched in the phone number, excitement turning to frustration as she reached Ryan’s voice mail. She clicked off without leaving a message. Never mind. She’d catch up with him later and he’d be forced to eat crow as she provided proof that would clear her father’s name.

Or would it?

The niggling voice in the back of her head, the voice she’d been trying her best to ignore, reminded her there was still the contents of that troubling suitcase to be explained.

She stared at the phone. She could make another call….

No. Not yet. That was the future, this was now.

Pocketing the phone, she hurried along the slick sidewalk, struggling against the northwest wind and the wintry rain. Her car was just up ahead. She was so wrapped up in her battle with the elements that she didn’t see or hear danger coming. It was only some sort of sixth sense that caused her to lower the umbrella at the last moment and face destruction head-on.

She screamed as she hit the wet sidewalk and then she knew nothing, nothing at all.

Chapter One

Tess took the taxi directly from the airport to the hospital, traveling the dark, rainy, unfamiliar streets in a state of numb distraction.

All she could hear in her head was the impersonal voice on the telephone telling her a fantastic story she still didn’t believe. Well, she’d be at the hospital soon and then she’d know. Her stomach, which had been in a knot for hours now, clenched even tighter.

“This is it, lady,” the cabbie said, rolling to a stop outside a huge, well-lit building. Gathering her duffel bag, Tess paid her fare before stepping outside into a puddle the size of a wading pool. Her San Francisco blood was too thin for this coastal Oregon chill, she thought, as she hugged her coat close and fought her way through the pelting rain into the hospital lobby.

She knew she needed to go up to the third floor. Once there, she found the ICU waiting room and activated the intercom. “I’m looking for Katie Fields,” she said, saying the name aloud for the first time in her life. “I was told she’s here.”

“And you are?” the voice came back.

“Tess Mays. Theresa Mays. I believe I’m…expected.”

Within a few moments she was standing outside the curtained cubicle and because she’d been hurrying ever since the startling call came hours before, she pushed aside the soft-blue drapes without pause, stopping only as they swished behind her.

There was one bed in the dimly lit room. One slight figure, still as death itself, occupied the bed. Lights blinked on the monitors. If there were accompanying sounds, Tess didn’t hear them; blood rushing through her head obliterated everything but the wild thumping of her own heart.

She wasn’t aware when she dropped her duffel bag to the floor or when her shoulder bag followed. Pushing damp hair behind her ears, she slowly moved toward the bed, nerves like fire ants skittering up and down her spine.

Tubes led from the patient’s arm to an IV bag, her fingernails were torn and dozens of bloody scrapes crisscrossed her arms. As Tess’s gaze made it to the woman’s face, she paused, resting one hand on the guardrail as she peered down at the bruised and swollen features.

Familiar features.

It was true. Somehow, someway, she, a twenty-seven-year-old only child raised by a single mother eight hundred miles south of here, had acquired an unconscious identical twin sister.

Swaying, she clutched the side of the bed and murmured, “I don’t understand….”

She heard her own whispered words and, just like that, the beeping of the machines and a sound came from the shadows. She looked up as a man materialized from the far corner. Taking a step back, she covered her mouth with one hand.

“You’re Theresa Mays,” he said, his face coming into the light. Tess stared at him as he stared at her, a stalemate of sorts. But the fact that he knew her name finally made an impact and she dropped her hand.

He wasn’t a doctor, unless doctors at this hospital had adopted a dress code of jeans and black leather jackets, two-day-old beards and unruly jet-black hair. He appeared to be in his early thirties, a tall man with broad shoulders and features cut from a mountainside. The unsettled look on his face made Tess shudder. He held a rectangle of paper in his hand and he ran his fingers along the fold as he said, “I didn’t really believe it until this moment. You look exactly like her.”

“Who are you?” Tess said. “How do you know my name?”

“I’ve been expecting you,” he said, walking around the bed, his gaze never leaving her face. He was a big man, and Tess was a small woman, something that hit home every time one of her larger patients got rambunctious, like the Newfoundland jokingly named Mouse who outweighed Tess and liked to sit on her feet.

It finally dawned on Tess that the strongest emotion emanating from this man was confusion.

Join the club….

He produced a badge. “My name is Ryan Hill. I’m a detective with the New Harbor police force.”

With a glance back at the silent woman in the bed, Tess said, “Is this about…her…accident?”

“I worked with her father. He was my partner. I take it you didn’t know your father,” he said gently.

Tess shook her head. He was using the past tense, but her brain kept coming up with explanations other than the obvious one.

“I think you should read this,” Detective Hill said, stepping closer and handing Tess the paper. It was dog-eared and much folded as though read and reread a million times.

Tess took it almost reluctantly, unfolding it into a handwritten letter. She looked over at her unconscious sister again, then back at the letter, tilting it toward the light in order to see better.

My dear Katie,

If you’re reading this, I’m dead. Of course, being in law enforcement all these years has put me in harm’s way more often than most, so I guess it’s not too big a surprise. I want you to know any mistakes I made were my own damn fault. That said, you need to know something, Katie, something I swore I would never tell, but now, I don’t know, maybe that was wrong.

A pang of loss shocked Tess with its intensity. Looking up from the letter, she found Detective Hill’s gaze glued to her face. She said, “When…when did he die?”

“Ten weeks ago. December first.”

“And you’ve read this letter?”

“It was in Katie’s possession when she was hit outside her apartment building. One of her neighbors at the Vista Del Mar recognized her but didn’t know her name and there was no ID in her wallet. The investigating officer found the letter. You can see that Katie wrote your phone number on the back. That’s how we tracked you down.”

Tess flipped the paper over and found her San Francisco phone number written in a different hand. “I see,” she said woodenly.

He gestured at the paper and said, “Go on, finish reading it.”

Turning the page over again, she read:

I know I told you your mother died in childbirth, but that’s not the truth. Your mother didn’t die. We split up when you were six months old. Only there’s more. You had a twin sister, identical to you. When everything fell apart, your mother and I decided we’d each take one of you. We actually rolled the dice to see which of you girls went where. You were so alike, there was just no other way to do it. I’m sorry for never telling you, but your mother and I made a pact and I’m breaking it now only because if I’m gone it means you’re alone and I don’t want that. I heard your mother went back to her maiden name of Mays after the divorce. Caroline Mays. Your sister’s name is Theresa. I believe they resettled in California. Find them if you want, and if you do, well, tell your sister I’m sorry.

Forgive me, Katie.

Dad.

Ignoring the tears rolling down her cheeks, Tess refolded the letter. She looked up at Detective Hill, who regarded her with such empathy that it crumbled what little control she had left and she swayed on her feet again. Only, this time he caught her elbows in his strong hands and held her steady.

“There’s more,” he said in such a way that Tess understood at once that it wasn’t good. He dropped his hands and shoved them in his pockets.

“Not yet,” she murmured, wiping away the tears. “Give me a few moments.” Directing her attention back to her sister, she added, “Is she…is she going to be okay?”

“The doctor said he thinks there’s a good chance she’ll pull through,” he said. “Her brain waves are normal and her vital signs are decent. She hit her head hard when she went down, though—hence the concussion—but he said she could wake up tomorrow or next week. She’s got bruises, torn ligaments in her right leg—I gather it’s amazing her injuries aren’t worse than they are.”

“The person who called me said she’d been the victim of a hit-and-run. Has the driver come forward, have you found him yet?”

Detective Hill’s eyes shifted uneasily as though he fervently wished he could respond with a positive, Of course! Instead he said, “There’s not much to go on. There was one witness to the incident. A man walking his dog in the rain heard the impact and the squeal of brakes, but when he yelled, the driver, who had gotten out of the van, scrambled back inside and took off. Unfortunately, our witness is legally blind, but he can discern shapes and light. All he could say for certain was that the van was white. It didn’t help that it was pouring cats and dogs. He couldn’t tell if the driver was a man or a woman. There are a thousand white vans in New Harbor, Ms. Mays. Without a license plate…” His voice trailed off as he ran a hand through his black, glossy hair. “There’s a whole lot you need to know.”

Tess looked away from his gaze, staring at the bank of monitors, then at the face that was at once familiar and foreign—her twin sister. Her twin. All those years of loneliness and she’d had a twin the whole time.

And a father.

“Look, Ms. Mays—”

“Tess. Call me Tess.”

“Okay. And please call me Ryan. You must be beat. Why don’t I buy you a cup of coffee. This isn’t the right place to talk.”

“I need to call my mother. She needs to know about…Katie. She needs to…know.”

The curtains parted as a middle-aged nurse swept into the room, nodding at Ryan as though used to seeing him there. Her glance at Tess was followed by a double take.

“I’m…I’m her sister,” Tess said, trying the words on for size, flinching when she heard her voice utter them.

RYAN HILL STARED at the woman seated across from him. How could anyone look so much like someone else? And how could Matt Fields have kept a second daughter a secret all these years? Wait a second… Theresa Mays was the least of Matt’s secrets.

The duplicate daughter was currently polishing off a stack of chocolate-chip pancakes topped with ice cream and doused with chocolate syrup. As she wiped up the last of the melted ice cream with the last bite of pancake, the waitress refilled their coffee cups.

Anxious to get out of the hospital, he’d hustled Tess to a diner down the block, thankful the relentless winter rain had stopped for a few moments. He hated that hospital. Peter had died there—technically, anyway. His real death had occurred in a flop house down near the tracks.

But that had been twelve years ago and until very recently, Ryan had managed to put his kid brother’s miserable death and the part he himself had unwittingly played in that death behind him. This whole thing with Katie Fields had brought it back with a vengeance.

Tess finally put her fork down and, finding him looking at her, flashed him a guarded smile. “That was delicious.”

He nodded, glancing at the wall clock. It was straight up on midnight. When it came to the middle of the night, he was a cup-of-black-coffee kind of guy.

“What do you do?” he asked. “I mean for a living?” He was trying to figure out how a petite woman like this one managed a stack of pancakes doused in ice cream. Maybe she dug ditches, though the pearly white of her skin suggested she worked indoors. Her clothes didn’t look as if they belonged to a laborer, either. Tailored slacks fit her small but curvy figure perfectly, and the red blouse floating over her upper torso looked pricey. An executive of some type? If so, she was a far cry from her bartending, fun-loving sister.

“I’m a veterinarian,” she said, brushing a few strands of hair away from her heart-shaped face. Her shoulder-length hair was wavy. He tried to recall what Katie’s hair had looked like the last time he’d seen her but couldn’t. To him, Katie had always been Matt’s daughter, a nice enough woman he saw once or twice a year but never gave a second thought to when she was out of sight.

“Dogs and cats, mostly,” she added, her smile deepening as she apparently thought of her patients.

“I have a cat,” he said for no particular reason. Matt Fields’s secret daughter was an animal doctor? Didn’t a career choice like that take not only brains but conviction? Katie certainly was smart enough, but she always struck him as aimless. Because Tess looked like Katie, he’d expected her to be like Katie.

“You’re staring at me,” she said softly.

“Sorry.”

She didn’t respond but she looked unsettled and he didn’t blame her. Less than twenty-four hours before, she’d been unique in the world, or so she’d thought. And now…

He said, “Did you reach your mother?”

She took a sip of coffee as the waitress reappeared to whisk away her plate. “No.”

“She’s not at home?”

“She just got married last weekend. One of those whirlwind courtships. She and her new husband started out on their honeymoon to Seattle right after the ceremony, but I guess they haven’t arrived yet. It’s a long drive. I suppose they decided to take a side trip or two.”

“It sounds as though you don’t approve of your mother’s spur-of-the-moment romance.”

She blinked a couple of times and looked down at her hands. “My mother allowed one man to just about ruin her life. Now she expects another man to salvage it.”

“And you don’t believe in love at first sight.”

She looked up at him, her eyes a summer blue, large in her small face. “No. Do you?”

He smiled. “No.”

“You have to solve your own problems. You have to rely on yourself,” she said. “Needing other people is tricky.”

As a philosophy of life, it sounded lonely.

“Okay, let’s get it over with,” she said with a deep breath. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

He folded his hands and adopted a serious expression, not hard to do since the topic was so grim. He said, “First, about your father—”

“Yes, my father,” she said, her face lighting up with an eagerness that touched him. “I want to know everything you can tell me about him. You said you were his partner. Tell me what he looked like, what he liked to do, start there, don’t start with his death.”

Matt Fields’s death had been exactly where Ryan had intended to start. Reining in the impulse to blurt out the worst, he said, “Let’s see. Your dad had graying brown hair and green eyes. About five-ten, 170 pounds. He was out of shape, didn’t take care of himself, especially toward…well, the last. He wore glasses to read. I’m not sure about his hobbies. He was private. He liked his work…”

Ryan’s voice trailed off. How well had he really known this woman’s father? A couple of months ago he would have answered that with a laugh; hell, a cop gets to know his partner pretty damn well in four and a half years.

But he hadn’t really known the guy at all. He knew that now. He suddenly recalled something he’d learned just recently. “Your dad liked to play the piano. He did it for charities, you know, in one of those little ensembles that perform at homes for the elderly or the disabled. Him and a couple of other guys. Nothing formal. It came out in the investigation afterward.”

This seemed to please her. She smiled into her coffee cup.

“And, well, he adored your sister.”

“But he never mentioned me?” she said, pinning him with that clear, blue gaze.

For a split second, Ryan thought of lying. He could make up a story and make her feel better and who would ever know? But he reached across the table and patted her hand. “I’m afraid not.”

“I used to fantasize about him, you know?” she said. “Mom absolutely refused to talk about him, called him a cad, said she didn’t even know his name, used him as a cautionary tale for premarital sex as I grew up. But I created stories about him anyway, larger-than-life-type fantasies. He was always searching for me in these daydreams, I was always just one day away from being found. And all the time, he knew more or less exactly where I was and didn’t give a damn.”

“I’m sorry—”

“No, please, don’t be sorry.” Looking him square in the eye, she said, “Tell me how he died.”

At last. Ryan took a deep breath and met her gaze. “A couple of months ago there was a fire. The woman trapped in the house was an invalid. Your dad—”

“The woman lived?”

“Yes. Your dad—”

“My father died a hero? This is what you’ve been wanting to tell me? That’s wonderful. Oh, you know what I mean, not that he died, but that he died trying to save someone. Still, I imagine his unexpected death made Katie crazy.”

He couldn’t let her go on this way. He said, “No, Tess. Not a hero.” For a second Ryan flashed back to that terrible night. By the time he’d arrived, the woman had been in the ambulance, her small dog yapping endlessly in a neighbor’s arms. Matt was already dead; it was assumed he’d answered the fire call. That was before anyone realized he’d arrived before the call ever came.

“Ryan?”

“What I’m trying to tell you is that your dad shouldn’t have been in that house. It was outside our district. He didn’t know the family.”

Tess looked puzzled. “Then how did he end up there?”

“Nobody knows for sure, but everyone suspects. He sent me off on a wild-goose chase. By the time I found out about the fire, he was dead. What you need to understand is that the fire investigator found an accelerant on scene. That means arson.”

He could tell she was beginning to sense the direction this talk was taking, and he hated himself for having to continue. He folded his hands together and pinned her with his gaze. “When a fire is purposely started, everybody involved gets investigated, and that includes the cops. Your dad died with huge gambling debts, Tess. I didn’t even know he gambled, let alone on that scale. He’d lost almost everything he owned. Once the newspapers caught wind of his involvement, other stuff started surfacing. Kickbacks, extortions, bookies. I didn’t know about any of it. I just thought he was a quiet guy. I didn’t know he was addicted or crooked.”

She stared at him with a deer-in-the-headlights gaze, tears blurring her lashes. “Are you sure?”

He nodded.

“You think my father started the fire?” She asked it as if she couldn’t believe she’d heard him right. “Why would he do something like that?”

“Someone must have hired him.”

“Who would hire a cop to burn down a house?”

“Someone who knew the cop was bent.”

“Such as?”

“In this case, the logical suspect is the widow’s stepson, a guy by the name of Nelson Lingford. A valuable art collection was mostly destroyed in the fire. Just a few paintings survived. If the insurance company can’t link this back to Nelson, they will have to pay up, and the widow will collect a good chunk of change. Since she’s relatively elderly, the money will go to Nelson.”

“But why wouldn’t he wait to inherit the collection itself?”

“Because it was about to be transferred to the museum to be assessed and catalogued. The widow was going to donate it—lock, stock and barrel. Once that had been completed, Nelson would have been out of luck. I don’t imagine anyone was supposed to know the fire was arson.”

“In other words, my father was supposed to make the fire look like an accident. So why not arrest this stepson?”

“There’s nothing linking him to the fire or your father. Look, Madeline Lingford’s late husband—Nelson’s father—was a longtime businessman in New Harbor. After he died, Nelson took over, but he doesn’t have his father’s scruples. Some of his dealings have teetered on the edge of the law. Let’s just say he’s made his share of enemies. From what I hear, a former friend of Nelson’s named Vince Desota lost his shirt on one of Nelson’s deals. Since it’s well known Nelson spent several evenings a week in residence at his stepmother’s house, speculation has it old Vince decided to instigate a little payback.”

“By destroying Nelson’s stepmother’s house?”

“And everything of value in the house, all of which would come to Nelson sooner or later, or so Vince probably thought. Like I said, it’s speculation.”

“So was Nelson Lingford at his stepmother’s house that night?”

“Nope. Begged off at the last minute to attend a concert. Interesting, huh?” He stared at her a second before continuing. “Tess, your father’s life was out of control. He apparently got caught in his own trap. They found receipts for a fuel can in his truck, the same kind found inside the house. They found a clerk down the coast who remembered him coming in and buying the damn thing. There was no fuel can at his apartment or in his truck or anywhere else except in that burned-out shell of a house. It was well known the widow was disabled and seldom left the place. A fire would kill her. Your dad would know that. I didn’t want you hearing it from someone else.”

“He tried to kill a woman?” Tess said, her eyes huge.

“I know it must come as a shock to you—”

“Oh, who cares about me? Poor Katie.”

At that moment, for Ryan, Tess Mays stopped being a novelty, stopped being a carbon copy of her sister and turned into an individual. He searched his mind for a few comforting words to offer and came up short. He couldn’t even reassure her about how Katie had taken it.

With a sigh he resolved to finish this. “That’s not the worst of it,” he mumbled at last, wishing the waitress would come back with the coffee and pour it over his head. He was suddenly freezing. Tess looked as though she was, too, and he fought an alarming desire to take her hands, to hold them close to his mouth and breath warm air on them.

“Tell me,” she said, not meeting his eyes. “Just get it over with. My father—”

“It’s not about your father,” he said, interrupting. He took a deep breath. “It’s about your sister.”

“My God, what has she done?”

“It’s not like that,” he said quickly. He scanned the diner out of habit before lowering his voice and leaning over the table. “I don’t think her ‘accident’ was an accident,” he said with a knot in his throat. “I think someone purposely tried to run her down.”

Tess gasped softly. “What are you saying?”

“I think someone tried to kill her.”

Chapter Two

Tess ran her hands up and down her arms, aware for the first time that she wore a blouse so new there were probably tags still hanging down the back on the inside, attached to the label at the neck. She’d been in the process of dressing for work when the call from the Oregon police came. Dressing for work meant turtlenecks and lab coats. She didn’t know how she’d come to choose the red silk; no doubt it just happened to be the first thing her fingers came in contact with.

And now it draped her body in soft, vulnerable, fragile wisps, and she wished she’d chosen something substantial, something strong…like body armor.

At any rate here she was twelve hours later sitting in a diner with a stranger, learning things about her family—a family she hadn’t even known existed—that went from bad to startling and back again. The unmerciful overhead lights in the diner made the headache building behind her temples all the worse.

She got up abruptly, registering the startled look on Ryan Hill’s face as she did so. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. He’d been talking, but his words had morphed into Swahili. She knew she couldn’t sit still another moment. Digging in her shoulder bag—she’d left the duffel in her sister’s hospital room—she produced a ten-dollar bill and slapped it on the table, then hurried through the restaurant and out the door, pulling on her coat as she walked, aware that he was following, embarrassed to be acting like a drama queen, but doing so, anyway.

The night air was cold and wet and fresh, salty with the nearby sea, invigorating, just what she needed. She pulled her lightweight coat close about her body, shivering despite herself, head tilted down against the rain. It might be wetter than usual in San Francisco this year, but it wasn’t cold like this, the wind didn’t bite at you, the raindrops didn’t ricochet off the sidewalk and nip your skin.

Ryan Hill’s long-legged stride being twice hers, she’d known he’d catch up with her quickly if he wanted to. He didn’t grab her arm, for which she was grateful, just hunkered down and slowed his gait to match hers, staying right by her side. His presence was reassuring.

Eventually they reached the corner, and she had a decision to make. To the left lay the hospital and her sister, lost in a coma, unaware Tess had come to see if her existence could possibly be true. To the right lay the ocean, albeit some way off. She turned right, which meant she was walking more or less into the wind. Her hair whipped around her face and plastered her damp clothes against the front of her trembling body.

“You’re going to freeze to death,” Ryan finally said. “Hell, I’m going to freeze to death.”

“I know,” she said. And then after a few more steps, head still down, added, “Go on, talk.”

“Let me know if you can’t make sense of what I’m saying through my chattering teeth,” he said.

She smiled down at the glistening sidewalk. “Okay.”

“I was talking about your sister. How much did you hear me say?”

“Not much.”

“Then I’ll start over, but this time you’re getting the abbreviated version for obvious reasons.” He paused, she guessed to organize his thoughts, then proceeded. “Katie came to see me after Matt died. She thought the department was making him a scapegoat or maybe that he’d been framed. She was in complete denial, unwilling or unable to see the facts. Her dad couldn’t have done something so awful. He just wouldn’t. She was adamant.”

Tess’s lips twisted into a wry smile as her sister took on dimensions as a human being, evolving from an injured figure to a real live woman. She liked knowing this about Katie—that she was loyal and true. “Go on,” Tess said.

“I refused to help her,” Ryan said, his voice ragged. “I refused. My career was on the line. I was Matt’s partner and Matt was crooked, ergo, I was suspect, an internal investigation was probing into both of us. I think Matt sent me off chasing phantoms that night not only to get me out of the way but to make sure I had an alibi. Anyway, the department told me to stay far away from this case. The Lingfords are a prominent family in the community despite the rumors of shady dealings, and the D.A. is unwilling to point a finger in their direction until there’s proof. Vince Desota hasn’t made a single move to indicate guilt, but sooner or later—if he’s guilty—he’s bound to let something slip to someone, and the detective on this case has his ear close to the ground. Plus there are other people connected with the family. Or it could have been an attempted art heist, the fire a diversion that went awry. I told Katie to be patient and trust the system.”

He stopped talking as he touched her elbow and guided her around another corner. The wind hit with renewed ferocity, blowing open Tess’s coat, biting through the silk blouse. A hotel lobby opening to the street lay a few steps ahead. Ryan pushed open the door. She paused only a second before sidling past him.

The steamy heat of the lobby hit her with a bang. She stopped and took a deep breath.

“There’s a bar over in the corner,” he said, taking her elbow and steering her toward the lounge as he spoke. “We’ll get something hot to drink.”

He chose a small, round table and as she took off her wet coat, longing for a towel to pat dry her hair, he went to the bar and came back with two stemmed glass mugs of Irish coffee, the cream floating on top like melted clouds.

They both wrapped their hands around the hot glasses and breathed in the fragrant brew.

“What happened next?” she asked.

He picked up the conversation as though it hadn’t been interrupted for several minutes and said, “Your sister said she understood.”

“Just like that?” The thought flashed across Tess’s mind that Katie wouldn’t have given up that easily. Tess knew she wouldn’t have.

“Just like that. I was relieved. But when I tried to call her the next week, her number had been disconnected and there was no new listing. I went by her place and found that she’d moved out the week before. Ditto at the latest place she told me she’d been working, a lounge out at the city limits.”

“A lounge?”

“She tends bar. Hell, she does lots of different things. Your dad said she couldn’t make up her mind what she wanted.”

Tess sat there and tried to absorb this. She’d spent her entire life knowing exactly what she wanted to do. The idea that someone who looked just like her could be so different was startling.

“Anyway, they said she left their employ the same day she left her apartment. Still, there didn’t seem to be any cause for alarm. She’d just lost her dad in a terrible way, so I figured she needed to go off by herself for a while.”

Tess took a sip of whiskey-laced coffee, licked the cream off her upper lip and wrapped her hands back around the glass mug. The alcohol spread through her body, melting icy niches with heady warmth. “I don’t understand why you think you’re to blame for her accident. I mean, obviously she went away to think and then came back to New Harbor—”

“I should have known she gave in too easy. Katie was passionate about your father’s innocence.”

“Ryan, I’m still not understanding—”

“The investigating traffic officer didn’t like the scene of Katie’s accident. For one thing, there were no skid marks, for another the driver went up on the curb but missed a telephone pole he or she should have hit. Then there’s the fact that the driver got out of the van and didn’t run away until the dog walker yelled.”

Tess closed her eyes for a moment. The whiskey had moved to her head. She tried to imagine her sister walking down the sidewalk as a white van barreled toward her. Katie wouldn’t have just stood there waiting to be hit. She must have been distracted. Had she realized what was coming in the split second before metal hit skin and bone?

“I told you they checked her purse and found the letter your father left her but no identification. The traffic officer recognized Matt’s name on the letter. It took a few hours for someone to get ahold of me. By that time Katie was as you see her now, comatose, unreachable.”

Tess still wasn’t sure what Ryan was saying. Her expression must have betrayed her confusion because without waiting for her to think of the right question to ask, he added, “I think she’d been poking around. My guess is she came across something someone was hiding.”

“And so they tried to kill her?”

“Exactly. If I hadn’t fallen for the way she blew me off that day, if I hadn’t been worried about my own future and been so angry with Matt for betraying me and everything I thought he stood for, I might have been able to talk some real sense into her. I might have been able to prevent this.”

Tess stared hard at him. There was genuine pain in his eyes—pain and guilt. And it seemed out of proportion to his story. Did a man in his line of work take responsibility for everyone they knew, every problem that crossed their path?

“But at least you know where to start, right?” she said slowly. “I mean, it must be that stepson. Or that Desota guy. You find which of them has a white van and you arrest them and then they tell us what happened to Katie’s father—” She caught herself and amended, “To our father. This could be a big break, right?”

“I’ve already done all that. There’s no white van registered to Nelson Lingford. No rentals, either. As for Vince Desota? He owns a few vans—he runs an electrical contractor business, and yes, they’re white. None unaccounted for or damaged. It’ll take time to go through Nelson’s other enemies, and unless there’s an official investigation, it won’t do much good anyway. There’s no proof that Katie’s hit-and-run wasn’t an accident. The traffic officer signed it off. It’s been lousy weather and there have been a lot of traffic accidents lately.”

Tess stared at her empty mug. “I see. I think.”

“And there’s one last thing,” Ryan added. “The last number dialed on her cell phone was mine. I wasn’t in the office and she didn’t leave a message. I guess she didn’t have my cell phone number, just the department’s. The time recorded for the call is compatible with our witness’s estimation of when the accident occurred. She was walking to or from her car, we think, when she was hit. I can’t help wondering if she was coming to find me.”

“So she tried to reach you.”

“Yes.” He took a swallow of his coffee and added, “What I’m trying to say is simple. I’m sorry.”

She met his gaze and nodded.

He put a few bills on the table as he stood up. “You must be dead on your feet. Did you get a hotel already? If not, there’s nothing wrong with this place. I’ll go get your bag and—”

“I don’t want a hotel,” she said. “I’ll spend the night in Katie’s room.”

“That’s not a good idea.”

She stood, too, still forced to look up at him because of their height difference. “This isn’t your decision to make, Detective Hill.”

He appeared startled by her comment, as though he wasn’t used to being crossed. He appeared to be a solid, healthy man used to taking control, caring but persistent, the kind who expected to shoulder every burden. There was another element to him, as well, that lurking hurt she’d seen behind his eyes.

“I can’t offer you forgiveness for how you reacted or didn’t react when Katie asked for help,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “I’m not my sister, I can’t absolve you for her.”

“I know,” he said softly.

“Then—”

“I’m not asking for you to forgive me,” he said, his gray eyes smoldering. “I know I screwed up. I know I let her down. I thought of myself…I should have—”

He stopped himself, shook his head and added, “I’m just trying to explain why I’m back in the game. If I can’t find out what happened to Katie from within the department, then I’ll take vacation time and figure it out on my own. It’s as easy as that.”

She had no idea what to make of this guy. She’d never met anyone quite like him.

He added, “I’m also going to make sure you stay in one piece, Ms. Mays.”

Annoyed, she snapped, “I’m not your concern.”

“Hasn’t it occurred to you that whatever happened to Katie could happen to you?”

“Why should it? I’m not a threat.”

“No, you aren’t a threat. You just happen to look like the woman someone might have found so threatening they tried to kill her.”

Tess shuddered deep inside. She was a veterinarian, not a policewoman, not an adventurer, not brave or resolute or any of the rest. She’d grown up sheltered from violence, quietly accepting her role as her troubled mother’s keeper, turning to animals for comfort and companionship. She didn’t even know her sister, couldn’t remember one single thing about her father. For this she might be risking her neck?

Her life back in San Francisco—the clinic, the animals, her partners, her friends—suddenly seemed a zillion miles away.

Where in the hell was her mother? The woman had some major explaining to do.

“At least let me walk you back to the hospital,” Ryan said.

She nodded, not meeting his gaze, half ashamed of her gutlessness.

And half terrified.

RYAN SPENT THE NIGHT trapped in a restless dream where he tried to find his kid brother, running down one empty street after another. Every time he seemed to get close, however, Peter’s frightened voice would fade away and begin again somewhere else and Ryan would be off again.

He’d had the same dream a hundred times and it never got any easier. He never found Peter, and he was unable to save him. It was a relief to wake up to no one but his cat.

“Morning, Clive,” he said. Clive, as usual, sat perched on the foot of Ryan’s bed, wearing his inscrutable cat gaze. A trim black wraith, he lived in a secret world of his own Ryan only occasionally caught a glimpse of. Clive had taken the concept of the mysterious cat to heart.

Ryan’s next thought was of Tess, of the last he’d seen of her, sitting in the stiff little chair beside her sister’s bed, yawning into her hand, looking small and alone. She might act tough, but he suspected it was a front. He’d wanted to take her to his house and protect her from he didn’t know what, but he’d made himself walk away.

And now he knew what he had to do next. First he’d go into work and read every file he could get his hands on, get caught up on Matt’s case, settle a few loose ends with Jason Hyatt, his new partner, then put in for three weeks of accumulated vacation. In that time he would make sure Tess Mays got home safely and stayed there, then he’d find out what happened to Katie and maybe even what happened to Matt. Clear the whole thing up, move on.

Simple. He should have done it before. Clive meowed, a throaty, strangled sound that meant it was time for breakfast.

“I suppose that’s your way of ordering eggs Benedict,” he told the cat who blinked yellow eyes.

AS THE DAY WORE ON the huge hospital became increasingly small to Tess. The high point was meeting with Katie’s doctor and being told indications suggested a good chance of a full recovery, but he refused to be narrowed down to particulars. “Maybe today, maybe tomorrow, maybe next month,” was all the doctor would commit himself to.

After that, she’d tried yet again to reach her mother’s new husband’s son—her new stepbrother, she realized with a start—a thirty-seven-year-old man named Nick Pierce who lived in some remote Alaskan town. Despite her mother’s efforts to get him down to California for his father’s wedding, he hadn’t come and the housekeeper who answered the phone this time would only say he was unavailable.

The wedding, the honeymoon, a new life…it was all surreal to Tess. Up to this point, her mother’s idea of adventure had been ordering Chinese food. She’d spent most of Tess’s life hiding from reality, doing nothing but working, sleeping and reading, almost in equal proportions, frozen in twenty-seven years of grief Tess had never understood.

Until now. Her mother had lived a hideous lie. She’d divided her children and been party to hiding the truth, something that obviously ate at her until Mr. Seattle swept into her life and somehow, finally, provided a distraction. If Tess was to be honest, she’d been weak with relief that someone else had come along to shoulder some of her mother’s care, meet some of her mother’s insatiable need.

But it was all pretend, a fantasy her mother created to fill a void. If her mother’s lesson had been to distrust a woman’s need of a man, Tess had learned it well. Too bad her mother hadn’t followed her own counsel.

After a short shower and a welcome change of clothes in a facility the nurse pointed out, Tess walked endless hallways that all looked the same, read countless magazines and called work where she was told to take all the time she needed, family comes first.

Family.

The word had a whole new concept.

Several times she stood by the window at the end of the hall and looked out at the rain-swept city, wishing she was brave enough to go out the front door. But she stayed inside, not only because Ryan Hill had warned her to but because, face it, she was a chicken and she didn’t want someone pointing a great big white van at her.

But honestly, was a van a very clever murder weapon? Wouldn’t a knife or an assault rifle get the job done better? After all, her sister wasn’t dead, she was injured and expected to recover.

By late afternoon Tess had found the scrap of paper on which she’d written Ryan’s phone number. She stared at it. Tempted to call him, she left Katie’s room before she crumbled. She knew why she wanted to hear his voice—she wanted reassurance. The thought that she might be turning into a woman as weak and needy as her mother wasn’t a pleasant one. A few minutes later she caught a cab outside the hospital.

It took barely ten minutes for the taxi to roll to a stop in front of Vista Del Mar Apartments. Tess paid the driver and stood on the sidewalk, glad the rain had let up, wishing the wind would take a hint and follow suit.

Perhaps at one time a view of the ocean had been a possibility from the windows of the Vista Del Mar, but development around the old structure made that something of the past. The building itself was two stories of gray cement, dwarfed by the high-rise condos on either side. It looked like a poor relation, hovering in the shadows, apologetic and self-conscious.

Tess stared up and down the darkening street. Across from a large park, numerous driveways led to high-rise condos. The telephone pole Ryan had mentioned the driver of the white van missing had to be one of a string running along the park side and one of the cars parked along the sidewalk might well belong to Katie.

Tess closed her eyes for a second, picturing Katie walking fast, head bent down against the rain. Her sister would have looked up when she heard an approaching engine. A blur of white metal, the shock of impact—

Tess opened her eyes, her heart racing.

What was she doing here?

Fear had held her hostage in the hospital until boredom made fear look downright agreeable by comparison. Tess was a take-charge woman in her own life. She’d studied hard, secured a good job right out of college, worked even harder once employed. She hadn’t had this much idle time since…well, since she couldn’t remember when.

At any rate, she’d felt the need to come to this place. Now she was here and, despite the bravado that had provided the impetuous, she kind of wished she weren’t.

She reached into her purse and found her cell phone, trying once again to make it work, but she still had no coverage this far north. How was she supposed to call a cab, and even if she could, where was she supposed to go?

Back to the hospital? No, thanks.

You could go to Katie’s apartment, a voice sounded inside her head. You could stand at her door and touch the knob she last touched and maybe, maybe…

Maybe what?

Tess, rubbed her temples.

“Well, hello there!” cried a woman being pulled through the door by an anxious Dalmatian on a lead.

Startled, Tess said, “I beg your pardon?”

The woman struggled with the dog. “I’m just surprised to see you back here. From what Frances said, I thought you’d be in the hospital for days. Hey, what did you do to your hair?”

“My hair?” Tess said, her hand automatically touching her blond, windblown tresses.

But the woman, now halfway across the street thanks to the apparently desperate dog, only waved her free hand.

Before the door swung shut again, Tess slipped into the foyer. Relieved to get out of the wind, she paused to scan the row of mailboxes. Two or three slots were labeled with name tags, the others weren’t. She stood there for a moment, looking down the short hall on the first floor. With a shake of her head, she made an arbitrary decision: Katie would not live on the ground floor.

She took a ratty elevator to the second floor where she found an older man fumbling with his keys while struggling with two grocery bags. One of the paper sacks looked as though the bottom was about to fall out of it. “Need help?” she asked hoping to earn directions to her sister’s apartment for her trouble.

The old man looked at her over his shoulder, a scowl making his wrinkled face resemble an apple carving, rheumy eyes awash with hostility. “No!” he snarled. “Leave me be.”

“Sorry,” she said, backing away. His anger was almost palpable but she doubted it was truly directed at her—or Katie. The man appeared mad at the world. He finally got his door open and went inside, using his foot to slam it behind him.

“All righty, then…” she mumbled.

There were five additional doors leading off the hall. Tess began knocking on each one. She’d ask the first person to answer to point her in the right direction. The only problem with her plan was that no one seemed to be home. She found an apartment across the hall and down one with a Dalmatian doorknocker—easy to imagine who lived here! Maybe she should go outside and wait for the woman with the dog to come back and point the way.

Knocking on the last door at the end of the hall, she was surprised when it flew inward at the first touch. “Hello?” she called. “Anyone home?”

The apartment was dark, but light from the hall illuminated a wedge of wall at right angles to the door. In that wedge of light hung a framed photograph that caught Tess’s attention immediately, and she stared at it with wonder. The photo was of a six-year-old child sitting in a wading pool and a man standing alongside, the two connected by a glistening stream of water arcing between his hose and the child’s pool.

Tess’s heart stopped beating. The child could have been her, except that Tess had never had a wading pool. And the man? Her father, undoubtedly, and she’d never had one of those, either. She touched the image of his face with her fingertip, trying to see something of herself in his features. This was Katie’s apartment. This was a picture of their father.

For a second Tess thought of the times ahead, God willing. The getting-to-know-you phase where she and Katie would review their childhoods, the informational phase where they’d each learn about the parent they didn’t know from the sister they didn’t know and, eventually, the build-a-future phase where they would finally get to be twins, finally get to share their lives. How odd that would be. How odd and how wonderful….

Tess flipped on the light. She gasped. Drawers had been pulled out and emptied; cabinets flung open, contents spilled onto the carpet; cushions slashed and thrown aside; knickknacks broken against the wall as if in spite.

Fear came back with a body slam. What in the world was she doing in a place that had recently, she assumed, known such violence? Ryan’s words of warning suddenly seemed perceptive rather than paranoid. She stepped back into the hallway, her hand on the knob.

And paused.

If she left right now, she’d lose whatever modicum of control she had by virtue of apparently being the first person on scene. Alone she could search the rubble for more photos. She could get a sense of Katie’s life. And that’s why she’d come, that’s why she’d been drawn here. If she left, she might never be welcomed back.

She stepped inside and waited a second. The place had the feel of emptiness. Whatever had happened here was over.

Decision made, she closed the door behind her, noticing for the first time that the door frame was splintered where the lock had been broken. Stifling a renewed trickle of alarm, she made her way to a pile of books in front of built-in shelves. Maybe in that jumble she’d find a photo album. She’d search fast and get out.

She’d barely begun digging through the chaos when she heard a noise in the hall like approaching footsteps. In a blink, without thinking, she stumbled over the debris and hit the light switch, plunging the room back into darkness. She expected to hear voices, keys, a dog, the sounds of a close-by apartment door opening and shutting. But though she strained to hear a nice, ordinary, unscary sound that signaled someone benign, she heard…nothing.

She backed deeper into the room, stepping over glass and shattered pottery, overturned plants and clothing, her own noises in the dark sounding more like an elephant stampede than a furtive retreat. A tingling in her scalp let her know that for some reason she was afraid.

The sound in the hall stopped. Tess stood absolutely still for what seemed a century.

Finally she took a deep breath. Nerves had gotten the best of her. Spying definitely wasn’t in her future.

The steps started again, closer this time. They sounded stealthy. Surely another door would open and close as a neighbor came home.

The footsteps stopped outside Katie’s door.

Heart racing, Tess hugged the wall and backed into the bedroom, feeling her way, grateful there were few wall ornaments on which to bump her head. Stumbling over rubble, she found the bedroom closet, slipped inside and tugged the door. It was stuck open. She flattened herself between hanging clothes and the wall.

Footfalls came from inside the apartment. A tinkle of glass. A muffled oath. Her heart beat like a jungle drum, crashed against her ribs like a bumper car.

The bedroom light came on suddenly, the clothes in front of her jerked aside. Tess threw up an arm to cover her eyes.

A hand closed on her wrist and pulled it down.

She found herself staring into the barrel of a gun.

Chapter Three

“Tess, it’s okay, it’s me,” Ryan Hill said.

She threw herself against Ryan’s chest, melted against him in a heap, cried despite the relief or maybe because of it. He held her and soothed her, the gun still in his right hand, his left patting her back.

“You scared me!” she finally said, pushing herself away.

“I know. I’m sorry,” he said. “Are you okay? Were you here when the place was turned upside down? Did anyone hurt you?”

He pulled her toward him as he said these things, and she shook her head, tears rolling down her cheeks, glad when her head hit his chest again.

His leather jacket was cool and smooth against her cheek, but the man beneath was rock hard and warm. In the moment he’d looked at her, she’d seen his gray eyes flood with concern, his stern expression soften. His breath ruffled her hair, whispered by her forehead, and she closed her eyes. She said, “I wasn’t here. I came afterward.”

“Let me get this straight,” he said with an edge to his voice. “You came into this apartment knowing it had been ransacked?”

Her eyes popped open. She didn’t like that edge, probably, she admitted to herself, because she’d more or less earned it. Still, this man wasn’t her keeper, and the out-of-place attraction she’d been fighting a moment before fled in a wave of irritation as she shrugged herself free from his one-handed grip.

As she searched the room for something on which to dry her tears, she said, “I knew the intruder was gone.” It amazed her that her voice sounded so strong. By all rights, it should be as shaky as her knees.

“How did you know?”

“It felt empty,” she said, spying a tissue box next to the overturned mattress. She climbed over the tangled knot of a pink quilt and snagged the box. Mopping at her face, she looked around the trashed room.

He shook his head as he slipped his gun back into the shoulder holster he wore under his jacket. “It felt empty?”

“Let it go,” she said, eyes flashing.

He stared at her.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“You weren’t at the hospital when I called. I asked myself where I’d go if I were you, and this is what I came up with.”

“And scared me nearly to death!” she repeated, but it wasn’t the fear that rankled, it was the humiliation of having broken down in front of him. She was willing to do almost anything now to distance herself from that clinging vine, that needy, weepy thing she’d become in the aftermath of intense fear. Anything was better than that.

“Well, no harm done,” she said briskly.

“That’s right,” he said, a wicked gleam igniting his eyes, “no harm done. Except that I might have been the bad guy back for a second look.”

Tess stared at her feet. She knew he was right, but she wasn’t going to let him see that. He’d already seen too much. She said, “I’m going to clean up this place. I don’t want Katie coming home to something like this. Maybe I’ll figure out what’s missing.”

He regarded her with raised eyebrows. “How in the world will you know what’s missing in an apartment you’ve never been in before?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea,” she answered. But she would know. She just wasn’t going to try to explain something to him she couldn’t explain to herself. It was like knowing Katie wouldn’t so easily quit trying to figure out who framed their father or that she lived on the second floor of this building. She just knew.

“Well it’s immaterial, anyway,” he said, taking out his cell phone. “You can’t do anything in here until the scene is processed. So find someplace to sit down, and try not to touch anything else, okay?”

She glared at him.

“Please,” he added.

Of course it had to be processed. “I’ll go sit on what’s left of the big recliner,” she said.

He nodded as he spoke into the phone.

RYAN ASKED EVERYONE who answered their door if they’d seen anyone or anything suspicious in the past thirty-six hours, since Katie Fields had been hit by that white van.

No one had ever heard of Katie Fields. No one there knew the name of the tenant in 206. The manager would know, but he was off in Hawaii.

The woman with the dog confessed she played music almost continually to cover the noise of her almost-deaf neighbor’s television. She did mention Frances from downstairs, who knew everybody and everything but who worked nights. The old grouch across from the elevator said, “I ain’t a snoop like some people.”

One person wasn’t home, and the last one, the elderly lady with a hearing problem, admitted she had no idea who lived, “down at that end of the hall.”

That was the trouble. Katie’s apartment was the last one on the left. The unit across from hers was empty, the lady with the dog told him, and had been for weeks. The unit under hers belonged to the vacationing manager.

Ryan’s partner and a couple of guys from the lab were finishing looking through Katie’s apartment, but it was such a low priority that it was more or less being done because Ryan had asked. He didn’t expect the person who’d done this to have left fingerprints or telltale hairs.

Which, he decided as he leaned against the wall in the hall, was just as well. He didn’t want to get warned away from looking into Katie Fields’s mishap. He wanted it to remain a hit-and-run and not get bumped up to attempted murder or linked to her father’s death.

Jason came out and lit a cigarette, something he did more or less every ten minutes when possible. He was younger than Ryan by a year or two, chatty and full of himself, as different from Matt Fields as night is from day.

“I can’t believe old Matt had himself another daughter,” Jason said, expelling a cloud of foul smoke.

Ryan waved his hand in front of his face. “They probably have rules about smoking in this place,” he said. “Well, as we both know, Matt was full of secrets. You guys find anything?”

“In that mess? Looks like there are two sets of prints. One all over the place, probably the victim’s, the other set belongs to the victim’s sister. You know how it is, people see an ambulance take away a victim and the next thing you know, some creep goes in and robs her blind, and everyone knows to wear gloves now. I don’t see a computer or TV or anything so maybe they took off with that kind of stuff. Ditto on jewelry. You ask the neighbors if anyone saw anything or if any of them are familiar with Katie’s apartment and can tell if something is missing?”

“No one on this floor saw anything and no one had ever been invited inside, though one woman said she believed the apartment was rented furnished.” He gave Jason the name and workplace for Frances from downstairs. “You check her out. I’ll give it an hour or so for people to settle in for the night and try the rest of the ground floor, but I imagine it’ll be the same.”

CSI came out of the apartment next. They shot the breeze for a few minutes, then left and Ryan stayed where he was, in the hall, thinking about going back inside.

He kind of regretted getting so uppity with Tess, but she’d scared him to death, then touched his heart with her trembling and tears, then had turned into a smart aleck. He’d put her in her place because he needed to put himself in his place. He was determined to protect his late partner’s daughters whether they liked it or not, and he couldn’t afford to let this pretty veterinarian with the bluest eyes this side of Tahiti get in his way.

Damn it, but he had to admit he’d enjoyed her moment of need. He’d liked her holding on to him like he was a lifeline. She’d felt good in his arms. A natural fit. Talk about screwy, but he’d been disappointed when she turned back into herself. And he knew this was crazy, counterproductive and downright dangerous for both her safety and his peace of mind, so he had to get ahold of himself and the situation and he thought he knew how to do it.

Pep talk delivered, he pushed open the door and went back inside.

She was down on her knees, stuffing pillow innards into a garbage bag. He rested on his haunches and held the bag for her so she could use both hands.

“I’m sorry about all this,” he said.

She glanced up at him. “Thanks.”

“Tess, don’t bite my head off, but I think you ought to go home tomorrow.”

She went back to work, moving from cushion stuffing to broken pieces of pottery too small to put back together again. At last she said, “I don’t think Katie intended on staying here long.”

Obviously, she had chosen to ignore his suggestion. No matter, he would approach it again from a different angle. She wasn’t a fool, and she didn’t strike him as impetuous like her sister, but there was a hint of stubbornness reminiscent of Katie that might make getting rid of her tricky. He said, “What makes you think that?”

“Your partner pointed out the lack of electronic equipment as though it might have been stolen, but I don’t think she had any. There’s no desk for a computer, there are no CDs lying around or tapes or cords or anything else. There’s no telephone jack. It’s still hard to tell, but I think Katie either traveled light or she stored most of her belongings somewhere and moved in here with just a few sentimental frills.”

“I think you might be right. She wasn’t using her real name here, that’s obvious. She wasn’t making friends and visiting with the neighbors which strikes me as out of character for her. She was up to something.”

“How about my father’s house?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I assume Katie no longer lived with him, but maybe she left most of her stuff at his place. He must have had a house—”

“He did. A nice one, but it was repossessed by the bank for nonpayment. It was part of that noose-closing-in-on-him thing. Matt was living out of a suitcase at the end.”

She looked pale. “I see.”

Ryan wished he’d picked up just a little of his late partner’s secret-keeping abilities. “I know how to do my job,” he said. “You go home. I’ll keep you posted on Katie’s condition, and I promise you I’ll keep at this until the bitter end.”

He took the plastic bag from her as they both stood. For a second they stared at each other. Out of the corner of his eye, Ryan caught a glimpse of their reflections in the window. He seemed to loom over her and yet she held her own, a slip of a woman dressed now in jeans and a sweater, her fair hair askew, her posture perfect. He had a sudden recollection of the feel of her body slammed tight against his chest.

Tossing the bag aside, he made his way to the wall and closed the drapes against the night.

“You can’t stay here,” he said, turning back to her.

“Don’t start with me,” she warned, picking up a handful of paperbacks.

“The lock is broken. Whoever did this might come back.”

He saw a flash of terror cross her face. He’d put that terror there. Shame on him.

“I have to stay,” she said at last. “I have to look through Katie’s things. If I’m going to go home in a day or so—”

“So you agree to leave?” he asked hopefully, and yet with a peculiar sense of loss.

“Yes, okay, I’ll go home. I know I’m not cut out to chase bad guys. Maybe I can get Katie transferred to a hospital closer to me or I can fly up here on the weekends—anyway, that’s why this may be my last chance…”

Her voice trailed off.

Her last chance to get to know Katie in case she didn’t recover from her injuries? Her last chance to get a feeling for a father who might very well have aspired to be a cold-blooded murderer? Her last chance to find missing pieces of herself?

He’d gone and frightened her again. His feelings were raw and banging into each other, making him say and do things in an awkward, stilted manner. Still, no matter how disjointed his words and actions, his motive was pure—he would not let anything happen to Tess Mays, he would not let her down.

“If you stay here tonight, I stay,” he said, expecting an argument.

But she didn’t argue, in fact there was relief in her eyes and in her voice. “Okay.”

“And tomorrow morning, you make arrangements to go back to San Francisco where you belong.”

She nodded. “By then maybe we’ll have figured out how Katie went about her snooping.”

“That’s right,” he said, glancing at the mess in which they stood. “We have our work cut out for us.”

With that, he reached for his cell phone. He needed to get his neighbor to feed Clive. He needed to order takeout. He needed to do something, anything, other than look at Tess Mays and entertain thoughts that would get him absolutely nowhere.

RYAN EMPTIED THE CONTENTS of the brown envelope he’d brought from the police evidence room onto the table between them. He’d eaten most of his hamburger and fries and half drunk the chocolate shake. He’d also talked to Jason. Frances from downstairs had slept the afternoon away. She hadn’t seen or heard anything unusual.

The food choice had been Tess’s idea. Ryan had argued for Thai, but she announced she’d had a miserable day and that called for fast food.

“Hand me an apple pie,” she said.

He handed her the white paper sack and watched as she retrieved a warm pastry. “How do you stay so slim when you eat this kind of stuff?” he asked.

She licked a glob of gooey apple from her lips. The action caused a wave of desire in his groin that hit him hard and unexpected.

“I run. I work out,” she said. “Believe it or not, on a day-to-day basis, I’m not usually stressed like this so I don’t always eat like this.”

“Allow me to clean up,” he said, standing quickly to bag their rubble, relieved to move away from the table—away from her.

THE ENVELOPE CONTAINED a still ticking gold watch, a turquoise ring and earrings, a very small red purse on a very long cord Katie must have looped around her neck and shoulder containing no identification of any kind. The wallet was there, just no identification as though she didn’t carry any. She had thirteen dollars and twenty seven cents, and a short list of phone numbers with no names. There was also a cell phone, a pair of shattered glasses with black frames and a ring with five keys and a dolphin fob. One key got Katie in the Vista’s lobby door, Ryan explained, as it had also gotten him in. One opened her mail box, one opened her apartment, one started her car and the last one was unexplained though it was stamped with the number 119.

“What about the glasses?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “There’s no correction in the lenses, there’s some question they’re even hers. I know I never saw her wear glasses. The officer on scene found them in the gutter and picked them up, but they might have been there for hours for all we know.”

Tess flipped the phone open. The battery was low when she turned it on, but she flipped through the options until she could access the photo gallery.

And sure enough, in among the photos of strangers, there was a picture of Katie and the same man—only twenty years older—as in the picture on the wall. It looked as if it was taken at a park during the summer.

“The police picnic,” Ryan said, peering over her shoulder. “Katie asked me to take this. They’d just won the ubiquitous three-legged race.”

Tess drank in the sight of the two smiling faces, one identical to her own, the other lost forever, and felt a knot form in her throat. “Have you checked the phone records?” she managed to say at last.

“As in, Did she call her would-be attacker or snap a picture of a speeding white van?”

“Something like that.”

“No such luck. Very few calls, none unexplained except that last one made to me. As far as I can tell, the last picture is this one.” He clicked a few buttons and up came a tiny photo of a trophy.

“Whose trophy?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. I can’t make out any writing. Too much glare.”

Tess scrolled up a picture, hoping for something more meaningful and found a shot of a very young woman who looked slightly off-kilter. Maybe it was her eyes, Tess thought, looking closely. She appeared to be mentally handicapped. That was it. But she looked happy and friendly, and she was wearing a pointy pink party hat.

“Who’s this?”

“I don’t know. Obviously someone Katie knew.”

Tess nodded absently as she clicked back to the photo of her sister and father, once again drinking in their smiles before the battery gave up the ghost and their images faded away.

FOR TESS THE JOB at hand was bittersweet.

The objects of Katie’s life lay shattered and torn in her apartment, the same way her body lay battered in the hospital. But there was a sense of the woman here, reflected in little things like the umpteen tiny packets of mustard, ketchup and taco sauce that filled a box in the fridge—they apparently shared the same love of junk food—the simple white dress hanging in the closet, the secondhand paperback mystery books.

To her regret there were no additional photos. Not a baby picture, not a strip of goofy poses from the mall…nothing. There was no rent receipt with a name, no bank statement, no pay stub or tax forms. Katie had lived in New Harbor her whole life and yet Tess couldn’t find an address book or a note from a friend or the name of a dentist circled in the phone book. Nothing. The conviction that Katie had chosen this apartment from which to launch her investigation grew as the hours passed.

The living room was soon back to as normal as it was going to get without a few purchases to replace the things that had been destroyed. Tess sat down in front of the bedroom closet and started putting the half-dozen pairs of shoes and the half-dozen empty shoe boxes back together.

The moment she dumped a pair of leather boots—her exact size and even a style she would have chosen—into their box, she realized something else was stuffed beneath the layer of tissue paper on the bottom. She lifted the tissue, which had been taped onto a false bottom, then immediately looked over her shoulder to see if Ryan had come into the room. The coast was clear, but she closed the box, anyway. She’d caught a glimpse of what was hidden inside. Just a glimpse, but the objects looked personal and she wanted to study them without Ryan hovering nearby.

Going back into the living room, she found he’d fallen asleep on the recliner. A few pages of sheet music lay scattered across his lap and spilled onto the floor as though he’d been looking at them when he drifted off. Tess approached quietly, gathered the papers without his waking, then stood staring down at him.

Dark lashes fanned his cheeks. His mouth in repose looked soft and sensual. His head rested on one hand bent at the elbow and propped against the back of the chair, his long jeans-clad legs were crossed at the ankles.

Her gut reaction to the sight of him sleeping stunned her with its intensity. She tried to drag her gaze away but she couldn’t. She’d never reacted like this to a near stranger, and it annoyed her at the same time fascinating her. Her heart fluttered. Her fingertips tingled with the desire to trace the line of his jaw and maybe kiss his throat, where she could see the healthy throb of his pulse.

She bet he’d had his share of love affairs.

Had he had one with Katie?

It didn’t seem likely. But if he didn’t find Katie attractive, how could he find her attractive?

Get a grip on yourself, she mumbled, and resisted the urge to smooth a lock of dark hair away from his eyes, knowing it was nothing more than an excuse to touch him and to start something she couldn’t, wouldn’t, finish. She turned to tiptoe back to the bedroom and the shoebox.

But first she examined the sheet music.

She, too, played piano. A smile lifted the corners of her lips as she noted she played some of these very pieces. There were many faded handwritten notes on the pages and even a scribbled date or two going back ten or more years.

My father’s music. She bit her lip as tears stung behind her nose.

Setting it aside, she sank to her knees and opened the shoe box again, carefully lifting out the false bottom.

The first item she encountered was a small bound notebook. She flipped it open, heart in her throat, thinking perhaps she had just come across a record of her sister’s findings.

But it wasn’t anything quite as handy as that. A notation in the front declared the small book belonged to Matthew Fields. Flipping through the pages, Tess saw a record of musical engagements, dating back many years, with names and addresses, presumably of the other musicians and contacts, along with comments about each performance. She flipped to a date two months before. The appointments continued on for several weeks, but the comments ended.

Her dad hadn’t been alive to perform, to comment, to plan ahead.

But three weeks after his death, the comments began again in a different handwriting along with records of coming engagements. And a name at the top of the page made Tess catch her breath.

Caroline Mays.

Her mother?

Caroline Mays was now the pianist taking the place of Matt Fields. Caroline Mays had to be the name Katie was currently using and she hadn’t known the name existed until she read the letter after their father died.

Tess stared at the name for a long time before closing the book and looking to see what else she would find. Along with a bank book made out to Caroline Mays and a few other important papers that had been missing from the apartment, there was an Oregon driver’s license made out to Katie Fields and another for Caroline Mays, a twenty-seven-year-old woman with bright-red hair and black frame glasses. Tess recalled the reddish hair at Katie’s hairline, just visible under the bandages, hair that Tess had assumed was stained with blood from her injury. Not blood, hair dye.

What form had Katie’s investigation taken? Who had she talked to, who had she worried to the point they tried to kill her? What was someone looking for when they tore her apartment apart? Had they found it? Why had Katie hidden her new ID along with her old one?

Tess picked up the little book again, turning to the date of Katie’s hit-and-run and found a note about a birthday party for someone named Tabitha. Was she the young woman in the party hat? Seemed a reasonable possibility. A few days before that Katie had played Mozart at a place called Bluebird House. The very next day, she’d been scheduled to play there again. Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” this time.

Tess put everything back in the box and went in to talk to Ryan, but he was still asleep. She sat down on a kitchen chair and watched him for a while.

What was it about him that kept her staring? She knew lots of attractive men in San Francisco, men who weren’t bossy and didn’t carry guns. Men who laughed more, men who worried less, men whose past didn’t seem to eat away at them.

She’d found none of those men interesting. This one she found fascinating and sexy and troublesome and didn’t have the slightest insight into why.

Unless it was because he was so different from her.

In the middle of all this speculation, she suddenly recalled the items she’d put back in the cabinet under the bathroom sink. Jumping to her feet, she went to look, and sure enough, found the small box whose importance she’d overlooked before.

Mountain Sunrise the label said, showing a woman with brilliant red hair climbing a snow-covered peak at the break of dawn.

Tess stared at the box for a long time as a plan flitted and floated like a windblown leaf through her head, taking form and substance until it seemed the most reasonable, the most obvious plan she’d ever come up with.

And the most dangerous.

Chapter Four

Peter called Ryan’s name.

Heart thumping wildly, Ryan ran through empty streets until he came to an old house, all the windows boarded up. Only the door stood open, a deep, black rectangle, gaping like a wound against the whitewashed planks.

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