“Will you help me?” she pleaded

Paige’s voice broke then. “They told me they’d kill her. They’re keeping her in the dark. Katie hates the dark.”

“How do you think I can help? I don’t know you and I sure don’t know them. What do you want me to do, offer myself to them?” Jay asked.

She met his gaze. “The Johnny I knew would have done anything in his power to protect a child.”

Jay’s heart slammed into his chest with the force of a blow. The Johnny she’d known. “And you think I’m that man?” he asked, the effort of holding hope at bay inside him too much.

She held his gaze for a moment, her eyes wide and haunted. If he wasn’t careful, she could make him believe it himself….

Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

Happy Valentine’s Day! We are so pleased you’ve come back to Harlequin Intrigue for another exciting month of breathtaking romantic suspense.

And our February lineup is sure to please, starting with another installment in Debra Webb’s trilogy about the most covert agents around: THE SPECIALISTS. Her Hidden Truth is a truly innovative story about what could happen if an undercover agent had a little help from a memory device to ensure her cover. But what if said implant malfunctioned and past, present and future were all mixed up? Fortunately this lucky lady has a very sexy recovery Specialist to extract her from the clutches of a group of dangerous terrorists.

Next we have another title in our TOP SECRET BABIES promotion by Mallory Kane, called Heir to Secret Memories. Though a bachelor heir to a family fortune is stricken with amnesia, he can’t forget one very beautiful woman. And when she comes to him in desperation to locate her child, he’s doubly astonished to find out he is the missing girl’s father.

Julie Miller returns to her ongoing series THE TAYLOR CLAN with The Rookie. If you go for those younger guys, well, hold on to your hats, because Josh Taylor is one dynamite lawman.

Finally, Amanda Stevens takes up the holiday baton with Confessions of the Heart. In this unique story, a woman receives a heart transplant and is inexorably drawn to the original owner’s husband. Find out why in this exceptional story.

Enjoy all four!

Sincerely,

Denise O’Sullivan

Associate Senior Editor

Harlequin Intrigue

Heir to Secret Memories
Mallory Kane

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Mallory Kane took early retirement from her position as assistant chief of pharmacy at a large metropolitan medical center to pursue her other loves: writing and art. She has published and won awards for science fiction and fantasy, as well as romance. Mallory credits her love of books to her mother, who taught her that books are a precious resource and should be treated with loving respect. Her grandfather and her father were both steeped in the Southern tradition of oral history, and could hold an audience spellbound with their storytelling skills. Mallory aspires to be as good a storyteller as her father. She loves romantic suspense with dangerous heroes and dauntless heroines. She is also fascinated by story ideas that explore the infinite capacity of the brain to adapt and develop higher skills. Mallory lives in Mississippi with her husband and their dauntless cat. She would be delighted to hear from readers. You can write to her c/o Harlequin Books, 300 East 42nd Street, Sixth Floor, New York, NY 10017.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Paige Reynolds—When her daughter is kidnapped, she must enlist the help of the lover who deserted her years ago, or her daughter will die.

Johnny Yarbrough—Heir to the Yarbrough fortune, he was kidnapped and presumed dead three years ago.

Jay Wellcome—Three years ago he woke with a bullet wound and no memories. Now a woman he recognizes only from nightmarish visions is asking him to help her find a child she says is his.

Katie Yarbrough—Seven years old, she’s the image of her mother, with her father’s dark blue eyes. She’s a courageous little girl, if she can just hold on until her mom can find her.

Serena Yarbrough—She married Johnny’s father for money, and her scheme to control the Yarbrough fortune worked. But now her past is catching up with her. Can she succeed in eliminating the rightful heirs this time?

Leonard Lynch—Serena’s brother. If he’s clever enough to find Paige and Johnny, they may never live to rescue their child.

Sally McGowan—Paige’s entrepreneurial friend. She invited Serena to her art exhibit, but she would never harm Katie, would she?

For Joyce, who kept me sane.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Prologue

Summer, seven years ago

Paige Reynolds woke up the way she had since the day her mother died, scared, lonely, praying it was all a dream and her mom was in their tiny kitchen, making coffee. But a deep breath yielded no delicious aroma of coffee, just an ache of grief in her heart.

Then through the haze of sleep she heard the comforting scratch of pencil against paper.

Johnny.

She was safe and warm and loved. Johnny was here and he was doing what he did so often. Drawing her while she slept.

She opened her eyes to meet his sapphire-blue gaze.

“Morning, Tiger,” he said softly.

He had on faded jeans and no shirt. His brown hair was tousled and that cowlick stuck up in the back.

Her heart filled to bursting with love. She’d never been as happy in the entire seventeen years of her life as during these past six weeks.

“You’re up early.” She didn’t want to get up yet.

They’d spent most of the night making love. Johnny had been quiet, more intense than usual. He’d held her and loved her and pressed kisses along every inch of her as if she were some precious icon and he were an obsessed worshiper. He’d acted as though he were memorizing her, body and soul, so he’d never forget her.

His fierce passion had been a little scary. But he’d whispered “I love you” a thousand times, and finally, as dawn reddened the sky, she’d fallen asleep feeling safe and sheltered in his warm, strong arms.

Just thinking about the night made her body thrill. She sat up in bed, letting the sheet fall behind her. Looking over her shoulder at him, she smiled. “You sure you’re ready to get up?”

He made a low, growling sound in his throat, threw the sketchpad aside and dove into bed with her.

Afterward, she lay in the crook of his arm while his fingers brushed lightly through her hair.

“Paige?”

“Hmm?”

“Have you thought about what you’re going to do?”

Her hazy glow faded a bit. “What do you mean?”

He kissed her cheek. “It’s been over three months since your mother died. What are you planning? Can you afford to go back to school in September?”

His question sent her heart hammering against her chest. Claws of panic began to tear at her insides, just like they had each week since her mother had succumbed to ovarian cancer as she counted her waitressing tips, praying there was enough money to pay the rent one more time. She sat up, pulling the sheet protectively against her.

“I thought we…” she started, but as soon as she said the words, as soon as she brought her gaze up to meet his, she knew.

“You’re leaving.” Her voice cracked on the last word.

“Paige, no. Wait.” Johnny sat up too, and grabbed her arms. “Listen to me.”

But she was already withdrawing into her protective shell. It had always just been her and her mother. Then when her mother died, her whole focus had been on survival.

But that was before Johnny had seen her in Jackson Square and asked if he could sketch her. Before he’d brought love and sunshine back into her life.

She’d believed Johnny’s words of love, just like her mother had believed her father. But when her mother had gotten pregnant, her father had revealed that he already had a wife and family. He had abandoned her mother when she needed him most. And now Johnny was leaving her.

Her breath caught in a sob.

“Paige!” He shook her, gently but firmly. “I love you. Weren’t you listening last night? I love you. Wait a minute.” He jumped up, his naked body pale and beautifully lit by the sunlight shining through the apartment windows. He got something from his backpack and came back to the bed.

“Give me your left hand.”

Hesitantly, Paige held out her hand, which shook. Don’t leave me, her heart screamed. I love you.

She watched his face as he took her hand in his.

“God, you’re shaking,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I did it all wrong.”

She felt something cool slip onto her finger.

“What…”

Johnny pulled her hand to his chest and placed his hand over it. She felt his heart beating fast, felt the warm familiar comfort of his hand over hers. “This was my mother’s ring. Father had it made especially for her. She wore it till the day she died. I want you to wear it.”

He looked at her solemnly. “I love you. I will love you forever. Will you marry me?”

A sharp pain pierced her breast. “M-marry?”

He nodded, and a lock of hair fell over his forehead. “I have to go back to school too, now that summer’s over. Come with me to Boston. We can live together. Be married. You could go to school up there.”

“M-married?”

Johnny laughed and kissed her. “M-m-m-married. Now stop stuttering and say yes.”

Paige’s eyes burned with tears. When her mother had died, she’d been left to face a world she wasn’t prepared for. In the weeks that followed, she had learned the meaning of the word alone.

“Oh, Johnny. I thought you were leaving me.”

A shadow crossed Johnny’s face. “I’m never going to leave you. I love you. I just have to take care of one thing. My father’s not going to be very happy about this.” His mouth twisted. “He’s never happy about anything I do these days.”

He jumped up and pulled on his jeans. “So I just need to run home and talk to him. I want him to meet you. He’ll love you once he meets you.”

Paige felt as if she were on a merry-go-round that had gone out of control. Her head was spinning. She put her hand over her fluttering heart.

He wanted to marry her. Marry! She was seventeen and all alone in the world. He was probably twenty and…. She suddenly realized she didn’t know much about him, except that he wanted to be an artist, but his father disapproved.

But he loved her. He wanted to marry her.

“How long have you been thinking about this?” she asked, grabbing one of his white monogrammed shirts and pulling it on, pushing the long sleeves back so she could fasten the buttons.

Johnny was gathering up stuff and throwing it in his backpack. He shrugged. “From the first time I saw you in Jackson Square. You were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I knew I had to draw that classic face.”

He turned and threw his arms wide. “Then you smiled and stole my heart.”

She giggled. “I didn’t know you were in school. Where’d you say?”

Johnny shot her a sharp glance. “Harvard.”

Paige flopped down on the bed. Harvard? They’d been together six weeks and she’d never known he went to Harvard. A tiny hummingbird of fear began to flutter in her breast. “Harvard? Are you rich or something?”

He shook his head as he slid his sketchpad into a pocket of his backpack. “Something,” he muttered.

He was avoiding her eyes. She wanted to stop him, make him look at her. She wanted him to promise her everything was going to be perfect. That he would love her forever and never leave her.

After spending a few seconds adjusting the zippers on his pack, he came over and cupped her face in his two hands.

“Come on, Tiger, don’t look so scared. We’re going to have a wonderful life, I promise.” He kissed her, then murmured something and pulled her tightly to him and deepened the kiss, his warm body hard against her. Her body molded to his and her insides grew liquid with yearning.

Oh, she loved him.

Moaning in frustration, he pulled away reluctantly. “I’ve got to get out of here.”

Paige bit her lip and tried to think clearly. He was leaving, and that scared her, but then he was coming back. “Where does your father live?”

“Up the Mississippi Coast,” he said as he set his backpack near the door. “Not far.”

Paige still felt like that merry-go-round was out of control. “Johnny, stop for a minute and talk to me. How will you get there?”

“My car.”

“You have a car?”

He turned around, smiling wryly. “Sure. A Mustang Cobra. Now listen. I’ll spend the night at home, and then by tomorrow I’ll have the old man convinced. He’ll be dying to meet you. So wait for me here.”

That hummingbird’s wings sped up in her breast, stirring up the memories of her mother alone in her room, night after night, crying over a man who had never loved her. She tried to ignore them, rubbing her thumb over the ring as if it could create magic. As if it would bring him back to her.

“Maybe I should go with you now,” she suggested.

His face shut down and he pushed his fingers through his hair. “It wouldn’t be a good idea. Like I said, my father will take some convincing. And trust me, you don’t want to hear what my stepmother will have to say. I’ll be back here no later than three o’clock tomorrow afternoon. I promise.”

Then he grinned and grabbed her, hugging her tight, and bent his head to give her another mind-drugging kiss.

“I love you, Paige Reynolds. Soon to be Mrs. Yarbrough.”

Paige smiled a little shakily. “I love you, too. More than you can imagine. Don’t be late. I’ll wait for you, right here.”

“You’d better.” He took her left hand and kissed her palm, then turned it over and kissed the ring.

“And don’t take off this ring. Not for anything. It’s magic.” He grinned and his blue eyes sparkled. “It’ll bring me back to you.”

He picked up his pack and left, closing her apartment door behind him.

Paige stared at the door for a moment, bringing the ring up to her lips as he had.

Magic. He’d said what she’d been thinking. It must be true.

She ran to the window.

Down on Urselines Street, he slung his pack over his shoulder and looked up. He waved, then walked away toward the levee, his loose-limbed, graceful stride as familiar to her as his face.

Paige watched until he disappeared around the corner. As soon as he was out of sight, panic grabbed at her heart again. She pushed it away.

“I’m going to be married,” she whispered in awe, sitting down on the bed. “Married.” She flung her arms wide and flopped down on her back.

“Mrs. John Yarbrough.” Her thumb caressed the ring. Her life was never going to be the same again.

Chapter One

Today

Edging a bit closer to the front door of Sally McGowan’s chic Garden District home, Paige smiled sadly at the irony. Seven years ago she’d been an orphaned, pregnant teenager, scared and alone, forced to accept the grudging, disapproving charity of her aunt.

Now she was a well-respected social worker. The road had been hard, the hours of studying and working and taking care of her daughter brutal, but she had done what her mother had never been able to do. She’d put her heartbreak behind her and concentrated all her love and energy on her career and on Kate, her beloved child.

Tonight she found herself in a roomful of over-dressed, snobbish people who were here to pay inflated prices for mediocre art to raise money for other sad young girls. And by the same token, make themselves feel generous and altruistic.

Paige took another step and smiled at a young man who was watching her curiously. Several people had looked at her that way this evening. She touched her cheek. Was there something wrong with her hair or makeup?

Someone bumped into her. It was a short, plump man dressed in white tie and tails with an honest to goodness monocle that popped off his eye and dangled by its silver chain.

“Excuse me,” she said automatically, biting her lip to keep from laughing. He looked just like a penguin. He harumphed and waddled away.

Was it just her or did everyone here tonight look like cartoon characters? Earlier she’d seen a sour-faced woman with a white streak in her coal-black hair and a white wrap with what looked suspiciously like Dalmatian spots on it.

Chuckling to herself, Paige wished her daughter, Katie, was here. Paige had never been good at being pompous and chic, and she and Katie could have a blast matching these folks with their cartoon counterparts.

She looked at her watch. Katie had been indignant when Sally had sprung the last-minute invitation on Paige. Tonight was supposed to be pizza night, plus tomorrow Katie started her second year of swimming lessons.

Paige had promised herself she’d be home by eleven, and it was already eleven-thirty.

Tossing her long blond braid over her shoulder, she threaded her way through the crowd to tell Sally she was leaving, and practically collided with the woman in the Dalmatian-spotted wrap.

Paige hastily apologized. But the woman not only looked like the cartoon villainess, she behaved like her, too. She waved away Paige’s apology as if she were shooing a fly and sucked on the cigarette dangling from her long, shiny holder.

The woman’s hostile gaze swept disdainfully over Paige’s black skirt and silver blouse before she turned her back.

Something about her seemed vaguely familiar—not many women had such a prominent streak in their hair. Maybe Paige had seen her at another charity event.

Just then Sally sailed into the room, her flowing red gown with sleeves that draped to the floor drawing every eye.

“Well?” Stopping in front of Paige, Sally gestured theatrically, sloshing champagne from a crystal flute. “Did you see it?”

“See what?” Paige asked.

“My latest discovery. Haven’t you wondered why people keep staring at you? Remember, I promised you an evening you wouldn’t soon forget.”

A tinge of unease tightened Paige’s belly as her friend ushered her toward the east wall of the room. Sally’s surprises were predictably obscure. “I saw the ice sculpture,” she ventured.

“Not the ice sculpture.” Sally waved her arm. “My newest artist.”

Everything Sally did was dramatic, from her famous charity soirees to the way she scoured the city dressed in her talent-hunting uniform of designer jeans and a shapeless, ancient men’s suit jacket that would do a homeless man proud, topped by an equally disreputable fedora.

Paige smiled indulgently. “Have you been prowling through dusty junk shops again?”

“Of course. It’s the best way in the world to discover new artists. I found this one in a musty little voodoo shop down near the docks. It’s the surprise I promised you.”

A framed drawing hung by itself in the center of an alcove. As Sally stepped aside, the crowd of people seemed to melt back into the paneling.

Paige stiffened as her vision telescoped in on the picture.

“Oh my God,” she choked, shock stealing her breath and tightening like a vise around her throat.

It was a small piece, sketched in charcoal. There wasn’t much to it, just a few perfectly executed lines. Only the eyes were fully drawn, but Paige recognized herself, much younger, looking over her naked shoulder with mischief in her glance.

“Voilà!” She heard Sally’s throaty laugh. She felt all eyes on her.

“Isn’t it stunning? And the resemblance is phenomenal.”

Sally’s voice echoed in her head like music from the next room, heard but not recognized. Her thoughts were on another time. She remembered the very day. It was the day Johnny had asked her to marry him, the day he’d given her his mother’s ring and promised her he would love her forever.

The last time she’d ever seen him.

Paige squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her teeth. It couldn’t be Johnny. That was another life. Johnny was dead.

Consciously relaxing her arms, she forced herself to smile. “It’s not me,” she said tightly. “It’s just one of those amazing coincidences.”

She stepped close to Sally, whose smile was fading a bit. “Where did you get that? You should have warned me,” she whispered.

“I bought it for you. I just wanted to display it first. Do you know the artist?”

Paige shook her head and started to turn away, but Sally pointed and her long red fingernail drew Paige’s eye back toward the sketch.

As sudden as a punch in the stomach, Paige’s diaphragm seized as she focused on the signature. Three letters in a unique stylized script, followed by an anchor in the shape of a Y. It was a design Paige would never forget, one she’d have sworn was embossed on her heart.

A shirt with that monogram on it was stuffed in a box, along with other mementos of a past that seemed like a long-forgotten dream.

For an instant, she ached to touch the letters, trace them with her fingers like she’d done long ago when she’d still believed in dreams. Her hand lifted, her fingers reached and she had to struggle to stop them from caressing the glass over the signature.

It couldn’t be. The dead didn’t come back to life.

Paige clenched her fist and forced her hand back down to her side.

“Paige Reynolds! You’re not going to faint on me, are you? You’re white as a sheet!”

Paige shook her head. “Where did you say you found it?” she asked, trying to lighten her voice.

Sally beamed, her face reflecting triumph. “One of those little streets down by the docks. Isn’t the resemblance phenomenal? It’s almost as if you sat for the artist.”

Paige frowned. Sally’s words sliced into her already aching heart. “Well, that’s impossible,” she replied flatly.

Then, aware of the attention they were receiving from the crowd, she pasted a false smile on her face.

“Thank you so much,” she said through numb lips. “The drawing is beautiful. I must apologize, but I have to go. Katie’s with a new sitter. I don’t want to be late.”

“A new sitter? I can see why you’d be concerned. Well, you must bring her for a visit soon. Maybe I should have a showing of children’s art,” Sally said. “Katie’s six years old now, isn’t she? She’s such a little doll, with those beautiful dark-blue eyes of hers.”

Paige’s face felt stiff. “She was just six in May. I really have to go. I’ll talk to you later this week.”

“Call me tomorrow. We’ll have lunch and you can pick up your drawing,” Sally called as a handsome, elegant man touched her arm. She turned with a flourish, back in perfect hostess mode.

Paige’s hands trembled, her throat hurt and her eyes burned. If she didn’t know better, she might think she was about to cry, but Paige Reynolds never cried. Ever.

As she worked her way toward the door, fielding questions and comments about her resemblance to the drawing, she glanced back at it. The cartoon villainess stood nearby, eyes narrowed against the smoke curling up from her cigarette, watching her.

SERENA YARBROUGH LET cigarette smoke drift out through her nostrils. She’d overheard the little blonde’s conversation with Sally McGowan. She dug her nails into her palms, barely restraining herself from tearing after the woman Sally had called Paige Reynolds.

She turned back to the drawing, adopting a bored expression as she scrutinized the signature that consisted of the letters JAY plus the old Yarbrough shipping logo.

That anchor had been the trademark logo of Yarbrough Shipping until two years ago when Serena had acquired several small and diverse companies, which transformed Yarbrough Shipping into Yarbrough Industries. She’d had the logo redesigned and updated.

Lifting the champagne flute, she managed not to bite into the glass as she sipped delicately. Aware that someone might be watching her, she forced her anger into a cold knot of resolve.

The signature on the drawing was unmistakable, but it was the date that made her want to rip her clothes and scream in anger and frustration.

This year.

Johnny Yarbrough was alive! Her stepson, the true heir to the Yarbrough fortune, had somehow managed to survive her scheme to get rid of him.

Her brother, Leonard, had assured her Johnny was dead when his goons had dumped his body into the river. She’d been outraged at the time. Now she had to force herself to remain calm as fury swirled in her breast.

She couldn’t believe the fool hadn’t known that the body might never be found if it drifted out into the Gulf.

As she’d feared, the body had never turned up. Only the stolen car with Johnny’s bloodstained wallet in the trunk. At least the kidnappers had left no traceable evidence in the car.

After a court order had declared Johnny legally dead, based on the DNA evidence of his blood in the car, Serena’s son Brandon—Madison Yarbrough’s second son—was the sole heir, and Serena controlled the entire Yarbrough fortune.

But now, in the space of an evening her plans were ruined. The evidence that Johnny was still alive was displayed right before her eyes. Almost as if he were taunting her.

Then there was the woman who was obviously the model for the drawing. Sally was right; the resemblance was too close to be coincidence, no matter how much Paige Reynolds denied it. And Serena hadn’t missed the way the woman’s face drained of color when she saw it.

And if all that weren’t enough, she was flaunting Johnny’s mother’s ring. It was a cheap little ring, but unmistakable, with sapphires in the shape of the old anchor logo. Madison had given it to his first wife, then to his son after she died.

One by one, Serena considered all the facts, like pieces of a puzzle and they all fitted into place.

Johnny was alive. And, judging by the conversation she’d overheard between Paige Reynolds and Sally, he had a daughter.

Six years old in May, the little blonde had said. That would put the child’s conception at about the time of Johnny’s rebellious summer bumming around the French Quarter, right after Serena had married his father.

Serena drew on her cigarette. That would make Johnny’s child older than her son. Another heir to dilute the fortune that was rightfully hers. She still hated Madison for refusing to change his will, which named Johnny or his progeny as primary heir to the Yarbrough fortune. But she’d gotten rid of the barriers to Madison Yarbrough’s fortune once, and she could do it again.

She’d taken care of that little problem and now she was in control. She planned to stay in control.

She watched as the young woman worked her way through the crowd toward the door. She nodded in satisfaction.

It was annoying that her stepson had cheated death. But now that Serena knew…

Draining her champagne glass and dropping the half-smoked cigarette into it, Serena pulled her cell phone out of her purse and dialed a number.

“I have an urgent job for you,” she said quietly, stepping out onto the balcony for privacy. “Well, get out of bed and get down to the office. I have a test case for the new tracking technology.”

As soon as she finished her call, she went looking for Sally. She needed every scrap of information Sally possessed on the artist and on Paige Reynolds.

The promise little Sue Ann Lynch had made to herself the day she ran away from the shabby trailer park and changed her name still festered inside her.

She would never be poor again.

The money was hers. Right now three people stood in her way: Johnny, his child, and the child’s mother.

They all had to die.

DURING THE CAB RIDE HOME, Paige stared out the car window as the dark, colorful streets of New Orleans streaked by. A familiar ache started in the back of her throat, building until it felt like a pair of hands choking her.

It had been seven years since Johnny had walked out of her apartment and her life, over three years since he’d been declared dead, and still she missed him.

She pulled her long braid over her shoulder and played with the ends, her unseeing gaze on the streets outside.

When she’d seen the sketch, for an instant she’d been plunged back into the past, to the time when she still believed Johnny loved her and would come back for her. When she’d been sure she would never end up alone and pregnant like her mother.

The day she’d found out she was pregnant she’d vowed she would keep her daughter, no matter what she had to do.

She knew the pain of abandonment—the hollow, terrifying fear of having no one. Katie would never spend one day frightened and alone, not if Paige were alive to prevent it. She would give her life to keep her daughter safe.

Paige shook her head and tried to concentrate on the awful music from the cabbie’s radio, but her brain wouldn’t let go of the past. She recalled the day six years before when she’d happened to glance at the society page, the day she’d found out who Johnny really was.

He was the son of shipping magnate, Madison Yarbrough, heir to a fortune so vast she couldn’t even imagine it. His family was the Yarbroughs.

Staring at a photograph of Johnny and his father captioned “Son Follows In Father’s Footsteps,” Paige had finally seen her worst nightmare come true.

He had never cared about her or intended to marry her. Their whole relationship had been a lie. He’d just been a rich kid slumming. She’d imagined all sorts of horrible reasons he hadn’t come back for her, but she’d never even considered the simplest one.

He hadn’t wanted to.

Then three years later, she’d seen his photograph in the paper again. This time it was the sensational story of his kidnapping played out on TV. She’d waited with the rest of the city, suffered along with his father, until the police found the bloodstained car and concluded that John Andrew Yarbrough was dead.

Now her daughter was six years old, and Paige had struggled and sacrificed to create a good life for the two of them. A safe, steady life.

No odd coincidence of a drawing with a familiar signature could change that. There had to be another explanation.

Maybe someone had unearthed one of Johnny’s old sketches and either unconsciously or deliberately copied the style and the signature. That would explain the recent date.

As bizarre as that idea was, it was easier for Paige to believe than the alternative…that Johnny wasn’t dead at all. That he was alive and well, living his privileged life and selling sketches of their intimate moments as a lark.

She stirred as the cab stopped in front of her apartment.

As she paid the driver, a car door opened at the curb and a small figure dressed in very long jeans and a very short top got out. It was Katie’s baby-sitter.

The teenager’s painted eyes were wide under her short straight hair. “Ms. Reynolds, I was just—”

Concern about Katie sharpened Paige’s voice. “Dawn? What’s going on here?” She looked toward her apartment. The front door was ajar.

Dawn pouted. “I was just…saying good-night to my boyfriend.”

Paige grabbed the girl’s arm. “Where is Katie?”

Dawn looked at her with eyes wide. “She’s right inside. She’s asleep.”

Paige tightened her grip on the girl’s arm. “You never, ever leave a child alone. Don’t you know that? Not for an instant.” She was so angry and worried that her voice shook.

“Katie’s asleep, Ms. Reynolds,” Dawn said in a small voice. “She’s fine. I was only out here for a minute.”

Rooting in her purse Paige found some bills. “Here. Have your boyfriend take you home.”

As she ran toward the door, she called back to the girl. “I will be talking to your mother, Dawn.”

Telling herself she was overreacting, but unable to shake her unease, Paige pushed the door open.

The first thing she saw was the phone lying in the middle of the living room floor, its torn cord twisted and raw, like the innards of a dead snake. She stared at it for a second, her brain not processing what she was seeing.

Katie!

She ran through the tiny hallway to Katie’s room. “Katie?” she whispered.

No answer.

Paige pushed the door open. Dawn had assured her that Katie was sleeping, but something was wrong. The room felt odd—empty. She fumbled for the bedside lamp with a trembling hand.

“Katie, sweetie. I’m home.”

Light flooded the room. It looked just like it had earlier in the evening, except that the bedclothes were rumpled and her daughter was gone.

“It’s okay. It’s been a weird evening,” she whispered, trying to calm her growing panic. Katie often slept in Paige’s room.

“Katie!”

She ran into her bedroom, throwing on every light switch she passed, but Katie wasn’t there.

“Katie.” Her voice cracked. “Where are you?”

She put her hand over her mouth, trying to hold in a scream.

It’s okay. It’s probably nothing. But her heart knew her brain was lying.

The bedroom phone had been ripped from the wall, too. She stared at it. It lay on the floor, ominous proof of a truth so awful, Paige couldn’t let herself believe it.

Her breath stuck in her throat.

She backed out of her bedroom and rushed into the little kitchen. The back door was open.

“Oh, no,” she whispered. “Oh, no.”

“Katie!” Tears streaked down her face and tasted like blood in her mouth. Somehow her shaky legs carried her back to Katie’s bedroom.

She stared at the bed. It was so awfully empty, a small hollow in the pillow the only sign her daughter had been there.

She couldn’t keep trying to fool herself. She knew.

Her daughter was gone.

She touched the pillow, plumping it. She reached for the sheet, but her fingers couldn’t hold on to the material.

“Oh, Katie.” She put her hands over her mouth. “Katie! Where are you?” she screamed into her hands.

Her gaze searched the room as if she might find her daughter hiding behind a chair, or under the bed. As if the last few minutes were just a bad dream and Katie was playing a joke.

There was a noise from somewhere in the room. It took a few seconds for the sound to penetrate Paige’s anguish. She lifted her head. What was it?

The noise sounded again, a terrible, electronically cheerful chirp in the middle of Paige’s horror.

“A cell phone?” she muttered. Was that a cell phone? She didn’t have a cell phone. It was here, somewhere, in Katie’s room.

She rooted through the bedclothes, tossing pillows, pulling off the bedspread.

There it was, lying like a big black bug in her daughter’s bed. She grabbed it, jabbing at buttons that seemed stuck or broken. Finally one gave.

“Hello? Hello? Who is this?” she screamed, terror paralyzing her, darkening her vision.

She listened, but there was no sound.

“Please…who is this? Katie?” she cried.

Still nothing but silence.

“Talk to me!” she shouted, then shook the phone, desperation giving way to frustration. “Answer me! Where is my daughter?”

“Now, now, Paige, there’s no need to shout. Your daughter is just fine,” an obviously disguised voice said.

She almost dropped the phone. Relief burned through her like a firestorm. Her throat closed. “Who is this? Where is Katie?” she croaked.

“I told you, she’s fine.” The raspy whisper—Paige couldn’t tell if it were male or female—sounded impatient.

“Let me talk to her.”

“All in good time.”

“I have to talk to her!” She gripped the phone in both hands, hunched over it as if she could somehow get closer to Katie by doing so.

“All you have to do is listen.”

“But—”

“No! You will be allowed to talk to Katie when you obey. When you don’t obey…”

Paige’s heart turned to ice. Whoever was on the other end of the phone had kidnapped her daughter. They were threatening to hurt her. The flat, emotionless voice promised horrible, unthinkable things.

“O-okay,” she stammered. “I’ll do whatever you want. Please don’t hurt her. Please!”

“Now listen carefully. I will only say this once. Bring me Johnny Yarbrough.”

“What?” Paige’s hand tightened reflexively on the cell phone. Her head spun. She wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. “Johnny? But he’s…he’s dead.”

“Do not insult me. You know where he is. Bring him to me and your daughter will be returned to you. Do anything other than exactly what I tell you and you will never see your child again.”

Paige’s mouth went dry and her heart squeezed with pain. “I don’t know where he is. I haven’t seen him in years. I thought he was dead.” She took a sobbing breath. “I just want my baby back.”

“Then you know what you have to do.”

“You can’t do this! I’ll…I’ll go to the police.”

An ominous laugh crackled through the phone. “Don’t be stupid, Paige. If you go to the police, or tell anyone at all, I’ll know. And little girls are so very small and fragile.”

Paige could hardly force breath through her constricted throat. “No, wait. I’ll do it. Just don’t hurt her.”

How was she going to do this? She had no idea. She vowed to tear the city apart brick by brick if she had to, to save her child.

The voice went cold with impatience. “Whether she’s hurt is entirely up to you. I’ll talk with you again soon.”

“Please! Don’t hang up! I have to hear her voice. I have to know she’s all right.”

She heard a sigh on the other end of the line, then a curt command. Her heart beat faster. Her pulse pounded in her ears.

“Mom—”

The word was cut off short, but it was Katie. Paige wanted to scream into the phone, but Katie’s voice was small and scared, so she bent all her will to sounding calm.

“Katie? Hi, sweetie. I love you.”

“Mom, come get me—”

“Oh, Katie, I’m trying to. Be brave, honey.”

“Nice sentiment, Paige.”

Her throat ached with the need to cry. “Katie,” she mouthed soundlessly.

“But you don’t have time for sentiment. Your daughter’s time runs out when the cell phone battery runs out.”

“Wait! What do I do if I find him?”

“You don’t worry about that.”

“But how will I get in touch with…?” Paige realized she was speaking to a dead phone. She dropped it as if it were hot and stared at it, wringing her hands.

“Katie,” she whispered hoarsely, then forced herself to take a deep breath. “Okay. I can do this. Think.”

She paced back and forth clenching and unclenching her fists as she wrestled with the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. She worked to gain control of her whirling thoughts.

The picture. The picture with Johnny’s signature on it. Paige felt a minuscule flutter of hope. She’d call Sally and find out about the picture.

Grabbing the cell phone, she punched buttons, but nothing happened. She looked at it. The little display screen was black. Not even the time or the signal showed. She shook it and punched buttons again.

What was wrong with the stupid phone? It was like the keys were stuck. She wanted to throw it, but instead she clutched it to her chest. It was her only link to her baby.

A vise of terror clamped around her heart. Katie was in danger and she didn’t know where she was, or how to get in touch with her.

Paige forced herself not to give in to terror and grief. She had to think. What could she do? She stared at the silent phone. She tried to remember everything the kidnapper had said, but her brain wouldn’t work right.

Oh God, she needed to hear Katie’s voice again. If she could just hear her, she could be sure she was all right.

Her tape recorder! She had a minirecorder that she used to dictate notes about her social work clients. She could record the calls. Maybe she could somehow use the information to find Katie.

She ran into her bedroom and grabbed the little tape recorder off her bedside table. Having it didn’t do much to calm her growing panic, though. It didn’t solve her biggest problem. She thought about the voice’s demand. She had to find Johnny Yarbrough.

How was she going to find a dead man?

Chapter Two

Paige stood in front of yet another tiny, musty shop. She’d been inside dozens of similar shops today, up and down the streets near the docks.

She’d taken a cab back to Sally’s place last night, but Sally hadn’t been available. She’d gone off with a gentleman friend, according to her housekeeper. But she’d left the drawing in case Paige came by.

Frustration and fear had Paige’s muscles wound as tight as springs. She hadn’t slept. She hadn’t eaten. Now it was almost dark and she still hadn’t found the right shop.

She wasn’t sure how much longer she could last. Nausea gnawed at her insides and she couldn’t stop trembling as she clutched the cell phone in one hand and the small, framed sketch in the other.

What if she did something wrong and those people hurt Katie? What if the artist wasn’t Johnny?

What if he was?

The cell phone rang.

Paige jumped and almost dropped it. She jabbed the one button that worked. “Katie?”

“It’s been sixteen hours, Paige. That battery won’t last forever.”

“Wait!” she cried, fumbling in her pocket for her tape recorder. The phone went dead.

Paige froze. Were they watching her? Had they seen her pull the tape recorder out of her pocket? She looked up and down the street, the hairs on her neck prickling, the weight on her chest making it hard to breathe.

She didn’t need the faceless voice to tell her how long it had been. She knew exactly, down to the second. It had taken all her will not to go to the police. It had taken all her strength to make it this far. The only thing that had kept her going was Katie.

This was for Katie.

Forcing her leaden limbs to work, she entered the shop.

The interior was dark after the bright sunlight outside. The odor of incense and mildew swirled around her. Exotic fabrics draped the walls and spilled over counters and chairs. On a shelf stood a number of apothecary bottles labeled with odd names like wolfsbane and maidenhair.

A table held an ominous collection of straw and rag dolls, some with long, pearl-tipped pins stuck in them.

On the main counter was a drawing held flat by a yardstick. Like the one in her hands, it was deceptively simple, no more than a few perfectly executed lines. An old pier with a seagull perched on a board was in the foreground, with a hint of mist-shrouded sea behind.

She peered closer, squinting in the dimness. The date was three months ago. Her heart sped up. The signature was the same.

Paige caught the edge of the counter as relief sent dizzying blood rushing to her head. Finally, she’d found the right place.

Beads clattered as a dark woman in a yellow turban stepped into the room. “Ah, c’est vous.”

Paige started. “What?”

“It is you. From the drawings.”

Paige studied the thin, brightly dressed woman. Her eyes, enormous and black in her dark face, reflected wisdom and sympathy, along with a hint of amusement. Maybe she would help her.

Paige held out the framed sketch. “I must find the artist.”

“Ah, everyone comes to Tante Yvette seeking the mysterious artist.”

“You mean other people have been asking about him?” Her fingers tightened around the cell phone in her pocket. “Who?”

“Two men,” the woman spat. “Rough. Stupid.”

“Did you tell them?”

The woman laughed and the sound echoed through the little shop like a wind chime. “It is not my place to tell secrets.”

“I have to find him. Please.” Paige heard the desperation in her voice, the rising panic.

The turbaned woman shook her head and waved a thin hand. A dozen or more bracelets jangled. “Perhaps he does not wish to be found.”

Despair clutched at Paige like punishing fingers. “Who is he? You have to tell me. My daughter….” She stopped.

If you tell anyone…your daughter is so small and fragile.

The jangling bracelets stilled. “Your daughter?”

Paige shook her head. “Never mind. I have to find the artist. It’s important.”

“Many things are important. For this artist, perhaps not being found is important.”

“Please don’t talk to me in riddles,” Paige begged. “If you won’t help me, just say so. I don’t have much time.” She thought of Katie, of what the kidnappers might be doing to her.

Tante Yvette stared at her intently. “Time? For what?”

Paige shook her head, but before she could speak, a noise outside startled her. She clutched the frame closer and didn’t breathe.

“You are afraid,” the woman said. “Tell Tante Yvette who frightens you.”

Paige shook her head. “I can’t. They—they’ll know.”

Tante Yvette looked thoughtful for a moment. “You are the girl in the picture, non?”

Paige looked down at the carefully drawn eyes, the exquisite perfection of the few lines that formed the shoulders, neck and hair. Then she stared at the signature and the date.

The answer was unbelievable, but for Katie’s sake she prayed it was true.

She met Tante Yvette’s gaze. “Yes.”

The older woman nodded. “Come with me.”

She led Paige behind the beaded curtain into an apartment that connected to another apartment, then another. As they encountered other people and stepped around furniture, Tante Yvette gestured or spoke in what was probably French. No one said a word to Paige.

Finally they walked through a crowded storeroom to a heavy door. “Go out this door and turn right. Stay behind the buildings. Go to the hotel and ask the old drunk.”

“But where are you sending me?”

“You want to find the artist?”

Paige nodded, her head pounding with exhaustion.

“You are the girl in the picture?”

She nodded again.

“Then go.”

Tante Yvette opened the door and Paige stepped out. She turned back. “Please be careful,” she whispered to the woman who was helping her. “They’re dangerous.”

Tante Yvette nodded. “Go.”

The alley was shadowed and dark, and held the stench of too many garbage bins. Paige walked quickly, swallowing the nausea that swirled in her empty stomach.

Any minute the phone would ring and the voice would tell her she’d lost her chance to ever see her daughter again.

She had no idea if she were doing the right thing. She certainly didn’t know why Tante Yvette had helped her. Or even if she had. She could be walking into a trap.

But nothing that happened to her could be worse than losing Katie. If there was any chance this alley would lead to Johnny, she had to take it.

Johnny. She shook her head. It was impossible. Beyond belief. But what if it was true? What if Johnny Yarbrough was still alive?

Exploring the answer to that question was more than Paige’s battered emotions could take. If this mysterious artist was Johnny, she was about to trade his life for her daughter’s.

For his daughter’s.

She couldn’t think about that. All she could think about was Katie.

Expecting any minute to feel a rough hand grabbing her, or to hear the cell phone ring, Paige continued down the dark, stinking alley.

Sitting on the front steps of the hotel was an old black man dressed in a dingy shirt and tie, wearing a jacket that left his bony wrists bare.

Paige walked cautiously up to him, glancing around.

The old man studied her through rheumy eyes.

She held out the picture. “Do you know where he is?”

“You’re the girl,” the old man said.

She nodded. “Yes. I’m the girl.”

“So his past has come to meet him.” The old man yawned and pulled a bottle out of his pocket, then took a long swig. “I reckon Jay wouldn’t have put that picture out there ’less he was looking for an answer.”

“Jay? His name is Jay?” She thought of the monogram with its three initials and the signature on the drawing.

JAY.

He nodded and stood, wiping his mouth. “Down at the end of the hall. Don’t you do him bad, you understand?”

Paige found herself answering reflexively. “No, sir.”

The old man chuckled and walked away.

She ran up the steps into a hall lit by dim bulbs that made pale circles of light on the floor. Paige walked down the empty corridor; her sneakers were soundless on the hardwood.

The last door was room twelve. She shifted the picture to her right hand and wiped her left one on her jeans. Behind this scarred wooden door might be the man who had left her alone, who had broken her heart.

The one man who could save her daughter.

She was trembling so much that she could hardly make a fist to knock.

She lifted her hand.

JAY WELLCOME JERKED at the sound of the rapping on his door. The charcoal broke in his suddenly tense fingers. Nobody ever knocked on his door except the landlord, and today was not the first of the month.

He set the sketchbook aside and stood. A glance told him the window opposite the door was unlocked. It had been almost three years since he’d woken up wounded and alone, with no idea of who he was or what had happened to him. And still he remained always aware of everything around him.

He waited, wondering when whoever had failed to kill him before would try again.

Satisfied that his escape route through the window and out to his deceptively battered car was clear, he pulled a T-shirt over his head, brushed his hair back with a quick gesture, and stepped over to the door.

He listened for a second, but didn’t hear anything. Cautiously, balanced on the balls of his feet, poised for fight or flight, he opened the door.

And found himself staring at the girl who haunted his dreams.

He almost ran; almost slammed the door. He wasn’t ready for this.

He’d let Tante Yvette and Old Mose talk him into putting the sketches out there. He’d been skeptical, torn between a yearning to pull himself out of the dead zone where he’d existed nameless and lost for so long, and the fear of being found. He’d spent the past three years working on the oil rigs, and always, always, looking over his shoulder.

He really hadn’t expected a response. He hadn’t expected to sell a drawing. And he certainly hadn’t expected this.

He stood there clutching the doorknob, staring at her.

Although the resemblance was obvious, she was older than the girl in his dreams. She was a woman. A beautiful woman.

The wheat-colored hair he remembered as short and shaggy was long, smooth, and woven into some kind of intricate braid that hung down her back.

She was smaller than he’d thought she’d be. The top of her head barely reached his chin.

The girl in his dreams was thin. This woman had curves where a woman should have curves. The eyes were the same though. Familiar gold-flecked green eyes that seemed sunken and sad in a face that was no longer round and blushing with youth. It was pale.

He realized it was getting paler.

She whispered a name.

He stiffened. He was being way too careless. The shock of seeing her had caught him off guard. Straightening, he took a step backward and tried to make sense of her words.

“What did you say?” he snapped.

She clutched a small, framed picture to her chest. If possible, her face lost even more color. She looked as if she were seeing a ghost.

“Johnny? What happened to you?”

Johnny? The name meant nothing to him. Did she know him?

Without thinking about the possible consequences he reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her inside the room. With a lightning-fast glance into the hall, he pushed the door shut.

She backed away from him, up against the heavy wooden door. “What are you doing?”

Jay studied her. Her pale face showed a strength of character, a wisdom that wasn’t in the young innocent face he’d drawn.

The eyes though, were hauntingly familiar. The only difference was these eyes were filled with terror, and they hadn’t left his face since he’d opened the door.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

Shock darkened her gaze and lifted her delicate brows for an instant. Then she seemed to shrink, and something changed in her. A tension, or anticipation, drained out of her, leaving her seeming even smaller. Her enormous green-and-gold eyes closed and she shook her head slowly, once.

When she looked at him again, her expression was carefully blank, although the rigid set of her spine had not relaxed at all.

“I almost didn’t recognize you either,” she said tightly, “but it’s impossible to forget those sapphire-colored eyes of yours.”

Johnny stared at her, panic shearing his breath as he wondered if he should be relieved or worried that someone had finally recognized him.

Paige swallowed hard, hanging on to control with as much force as she hung on to the picture. He was so different. This was not the boy she had fallen in love with. This wasn’t the frustrated young artist who was so intimidated by his father he couldn’t even bring a girlfriend home to meet him without getting permission first.

This was a man.

A strong, hard-eyed, capable man with calluses on his artist’s fingers and a scar that parted his hair and lent a cynical lift to one dark eyebrow.

Paige’s gaze traveled over shoulders that she was sure had not been this broad, down the front of his T-shirt to the faded jeans that molded over long powerful thighs, then back up to his face.

It could be someone else’s face, harsh, scored by years and darkened by the sun. But there was no mistaking the eyes. They were the same brilliant blue eyes that had regarded her so tenderly as he told her how much he loved her. Now they blazed with startling intensity in his tanned face.

She wasn’t sure what was going on behind those familiar eyes. He watched her warily, all senses alert, like a cat watches an unknown threat. His taut, muscled body was perfectly balanced, his hands loose but open and ready at his sides, his gaze never leaving her face.

“It’s Paige,” she ventured, wanting to cry because she had to remind the only man she’d ever loved of her name. She tried a smile. “Paige Reynolds.”

He frowned. He frightened her, this familiar stranger who stood in a dingy, sordid hotel room and acted like he’d never seen her before today, but whom she knew without a doubt was the father of her daughter.

Katie! Searing loss and chilling fear met with stormy force inside her. Her head reeled and she swayed.

“Are you all right?” Johnny asked, reaching toward her.

She pressed her lips together to gain control of her emotions.

Hold on. This is for Katie’s sake.

She nodded stiffly.

“Good.” His voice was cold. “Now what are you doing here, and what did you call me?”

Paige lifted her chin. “I called you Johnny. Johnny Yarbrough. It’s your name.”

He didn’t move a muscle, but she felt his increased tension like an aura surrounding him. She saw the vein that beat in his temple, saw the infinitesimal tightening of his wide, generous mouth.

“Johnny Yarbrough,” he repeated, his voice no more than a croaking whisper. His lips barely moved. “Yarbrough.” His mouth closed grimly and a muscle jumped in his jaw. He winced, touching the side of his head.

Paige stared at him. He was acting so strange. “Actually,” she said wryly, “I guess that would be John Andrew Yarbrough. You never told me who you really were.”

His eyes never left her face, but she had the sense he wasn’t looking at her at all. His fingers slipped through his sun-kissed brown hair, and then went back to his temple.

“Johnny?”

He shook his head, looking confused.

“I don’t understand. What’s the matter with you? You act like you—”

The truth hit her like a wrecking ball. In one explosive instant, everything Paige had pinned her hopes on crashed down around her.

As unbelievable as it was, it explained everything. Why no one had ever found a body. Why he’d never returned to his rightful place in his father’s business. Why he looked so bewildered.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, stunned.

Her daughter’s life was at stake, and the only man who could save her didn’t know who he was. Telling him he had a daughter would mean nothing to him.

“You don’t remember.” Her numb lips formed the words, hoping he would deny them, but knowing he wouldn’t.

He couldn’t.

He sent her a terrible, haunted glance, then turned away.

She stared at his bowed back, watched his bicep flex as he massaged his temple.

Her brain rejected the idea. It couldn’t be true. She couldn’t allow it to be true.

“I need your help.” She took a step toward him. “Look at me,” she pleaded. “Look at this.”

He angled his head, and the muscles in his back rippled the white cotton of his T-shirt. Then he half turned, his long lashes shadowing his eyes.

She held up the drawing. “You drew me. We were together here, in New Orleans, seven years ago. You can’t tell me you don’t remember that.”

He faced her, his jaw set, his eyes bleak. He shrugged. “I don’t remember that.”

“You have to. If you don’t remember me, surely you remember being kidnapped?”

His eyes narrowed. He took a step toward her. “I was kidnapped?”

Paige gasped and forced down the panic that bubbled up into her throat. “Of course. Three years ago. It was all over the news. The ransom note demanded two million dollars. After weeks and weeks, your wallet covered with your blood was found in a stolen car out by Chef Menteur Highway. You were—presumed dead.” She couldn’t believe he didn’t remember anything.

“Your father begged the kidnappers not to harm you. He offered twice the ransom if they’d just let you go.” Paige stopped to take a shaky breath.

“Your father gave them the money. Nobody understood why they killed…” Her voice died on the word and she stared at his familiar, alien face.

There was pain there, and a kind of bewildered disbelief. But she also saw a spark of interest, and something that almost broke her heart. For one naked second, she saw hope reflected in his eyes.

He wasn’t lying. He really didn’t remember.

Oh, Johnny. What did they do to you?

She caught herself and shook her head. She didn’t have time for sentiment or pity. She had to save her child. It was her only reason for being here. Her only reason for living now.

Once she’d thought she knew him better than she knew herself. She’d have staked her life on his honesty. But he’d promised her he was coming back for her and he hadn’t.

He’d lied to her then. Was he lying now?

But why would he be here in this seedy hotel instead of living the wealthy life he was born to? Why would he draw her picture then deny he knew her?

“Do you expect me to believe you don’t remember any of that?” Her gaze fell on the scar that started at his hairline and furrowed along a couple of inches, like a carefully combed part.

At the same time he lifted his hand and touched it. “All I know is somebody tried to kill me. Who kidnapped me?”

“I don’t know.” She swallowed, “We weren’t together then. We last saw each other seven years ago.”

He reached out and took the picture from her hands and looked at it, then at her, searching her eyes as if he hoped to find the answers he sought there.

“How long did we know each other?”

She shrugged and twisted the ends of her braid, painfully aware of the time ticking by. “About six weeks.”

Long enough to create a beautiful child who was out there, held captive by dangerous strangers. What if they hurt her?

“We knew each other for six weeks seven years ago,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “So why do you haunt my dreams?”

“Why do I what?”

He tossed the picture on the bed, on top of other similar sketches. A few were of her.

He looked up, and for a second the caution and doubt in his face changed to a yearning so strong, Paige felt its pull like a fishing line, reeling her in. Then he blinked and it was gone.

“So you knew me once,” he said quietly, a bitter longing rising up like bile inside him as he stared at the drawings, those pathetic attempts to capture the visions that streaked through his brain when the headaches hit him.

He looked at the woman whose face haunted him. “I assume you traced me through that picture to Tante Yvette. She sent you here?”

She nodded.

Tante Yvette had trusted her. The strange dark woman claimed to know things, to be able to read minds. He hoped she was right this time.

He studied the lovely, hauntingly familiar face of Paige Reynolds for a moment. The glint of panic in her golden-green eyes and the tension in her shoulders told him she was a hairsbreadth from losing control.

But as familiar as she was, he didn’t know her and his small store of memories made it hard for him to trust anyone, even someone Tante Yvette believed.

“What do you want from me?” he asked coldly.

He winced at the unguarded hope that flared in her green eyes. “They’ve got my daughter,” she whispered, clenching her fists.

He hadn’t expected that. “Your daughter? Who does?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. But they told me to find you.”

At her words, Jay tensed. Almost unconsciously he shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, alert, prepared for anything.

“Were you followed?” he snapped.

Her brow furrowed briefly. She looked down at her fist, clenched in her jacket pocket, then over her shoulder at the door. “Yes.”

He heard a noise behind her. “Look out!”

Wood splintered and the door flew open, hurling her into his arms. The breath hissed out of her and she squealed in pain. He tossed her back toward the bed, hoping to get her out of harm’s way, as the two men attacked him.

He struggled, fighting dirty, aiming for the groin, the kidneys, the nose, any vulnerable spot. He’d learned how to fight the hard way out on the oil rigs.

One man was beefier, thicker than the other. Jay concentrated on his face.

He punched, felt something crunch, then drove an elbow behind him into the smaller man’s solar plexus.

A fist connected with his jaw. He stumbled. The small man pinned his arms behind him and Beefy reared back a fist, prepared to punch him in the stomach.

Jay used the momentum of the small man’s grip to lift his feet. He drove them into Beefy’s stomach, pushing himself backward at the same time.

Beefy fell. The smaller man huffed as Jay’s weight pinned him against the wall. Jay turned, jerking his arms clear, then smashed the guy’s nose with his forearm.

When he looked back at Beefy, the big man was trying to regain his feet. Jay kicked him solidly in the groin.

Both men were down for the moment. The smaller man’s nose was pouring blood. Beefy was doubled over with pain. But they’d recover fast.

Jay wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, barely noting his own blood as he rushed around the bed.

He bent over the woman. She was unconscious, or nearly so. When he slid one hand under her back and the other under her knees, she whimpered.

“Sorry,” he whispered, afraid she was injured but knowing he didn’t have time to find out. He hefted her, absently noting how small she was, and took her out through the French doors. He kneed the doors closed and glanced inside. The two men were beginning to stir.

Hurrying to the old sedan he kept in tiptop shape for just this purpose, he opened the passenger door and carefully set her inside. He quickly and awkwardly fastened her seat belt, then ran around the car, got in, grabbed the keys from under the mat, cranked it and took off.

Chapter Three

Not until Jay reached the edge of the city did he relax his hunched shoulders and breathe a bit easier. They’d made it, for now. The whole process, from the moment the brutes had broken in the door, slamming the woman forward into his arms, until he’d cranked the car, had probably taken no longer than five minutes, eight at the most. Unless there had been a third guy watching the alley, Jay was sure he’d lost them.

As he took a right off the main road, he glanced over at his unconscious passenger. She was limp and still, her face shadowed, her braid draped across her shoulder and over her breast.

For a split second, his eyes lingered there, where the rope of wheat-colored hair rose and fell with the slight movement of her breathing.

Pulling his eyes back to the road, he drove the familiar route to his safe house. He’d always felt vaguely foolish about the elaborate escape plan he’d devised, but waking up with a bullet wound and no memory tended to make a guy paranoid.

Obviously, some deeply buried part of his brain had remembered enough of what had happened to him to keep his survival skills intact.

He took a long breath and thought about the last few moments. What he’d always feared had happened, with a twist, and now he was running away from thugs with an unconscious woman beside him.

Not just any woman either. The woman whose face haunted him, whose image he’d tried time and again to capture.

He searched her face. There was no doubt in his mind. She was the girl in his drawings. The girl in his head.

She’d said they’d known each other years ago. Had they been lovers? Was that why her face was the clearest memory he’d managed to glean from his battered brain?

She’d called him Johnny. Implied he’d come from serious money, and that he’d been kidnapped and presumed dead. Obviously whoever had wanted him dead back then still did, and they’d kidnapped an innocent child to find him.

Kidnapped.

Clenching his jaw against the panic that washed over him, he forced himself to think about it, testing the idea in his brain. It made sense. Was that why he was so damned afraid of the dark? Why the headaches that assaulted him yielded up such a suffocating claustrophobia?

He wiped sweat off his face, tongued his split lip, and waited for his pulse to slow as the panic finally eased.

Maybe he should have taken the woman to the police. Maybe he should have left her there with the thugs. It wasn’t impossible that she’d deliberately led them to him.

Shaking his head he pushed damp hair off his forehead; neither of those choices were an option. He’d recognized her the instant he opened the door, as soon as he’d looked into her eyes. He’d always known those eyes were green and gold. He’d known her chin stuck up pugnaciously when she was mad.

Somehow, somewhere, in his malfunctioning brain, he knew she had once been the most important person in the world to him.

She still was, because if she’d known him seven years ago, then she was the one person who could help him regain his lost memories, the one person in the world he might be able to trust.

A cell phone rang. He jumped, startled, the car swerving under his unsteady hands.

“What the hell?” It must be hers.

She whimpered and stirred.

Jay tried to ignore the phone, but he couldn’t. If he was going to make any sense out of what was happening, he had to have every bit of information available, including who was calling this mysterious woman from his past.

He reached out and felt around for the phone, doing his best to ignore her rounded woman’s body. His mouth quirked and he shifted uncomfortably as he searched blindly, keeping his eyes on the road. It had been a little too long since he’d touched a woman.

The ringing continued. She moaned, saying something, but didn’t wake.

He pulled over to the side of the road and took the car out of gear. He searched her pockets. Finally, on the fourth ring, his hand closed around the hard plastic case in her jacket pocket. He pulled it out and looked at it. The caller ID was blocked.

After hesitating for a brief second, he pressed the answer button and listened.

Just then Paige stirred and lifted her head. She blinked and moved, then froze, gasping with pain. Her wide, terrified eyes glittered, pleading with him in the darkness.

“Give me the phone,” she whispered, her words strained and breathless.

“Who is this?” the voice on the other end of the phone demanded.

He didn’t speak. There was something in the background, some sound that seemed familiar. He listened intently, his head beginning to throb, as the voice spoke.

“Paige? Don’t play games with me.”

Paige reached into her pocket with her right hand, moaning involuntarily as she moved. She pulled out a minitape recorder and turned it on, then tried to take the cell phone with her left hand, but she couldn’t manage it.

She had a tape recorder. He was impressed.

The voice from the phone called her name again.

Without a word, Jay held the phone up to her ear.

“Katie,” she sobbed dryly, pressing her head tightly against the phone. He held it steady for her.

“I’m sorry. I…dropped the phone. Where’s Katie?” As if just remembering the tape recorder, she held it close to the cell phone. She listened for a moment, then cut her eyes over at Jay, looking away when he met her gaze. “Yes. I found him. You should know. You had me followed.”

She listened, breathing in short bursts. She was obviously in pain.

He pushed away the easy compassion that rose in him. She was negotiating with these people, using him as a bargaining chip.

“I swear. I will. You just tell me where and when. But I have to talk to Katie. I won’t do anything for you unless you prove to me she’s all right.”

Jay glanced at her pale, pinched face. He was surprised at the strength of will in her voice. She was obviously in pain, judging by the way she avoided moving her left arm. He was pretty sure she had a dislocated or broken shoulder. He hoped to hell it wasn’t broken.

“Katie, honey? Hi.”

Jay held the phone, feeling her inner struggle. He could tell she wanted to drop the tape recorder and press the phone as close as she could to her ear. He had to give her credit for having the presence of mind to record the call.

He didn’t look at her, offering her as much illusion of privacy as he could. Her voice was thick with tears, and at the same time deliberately and pitifully cheerful.

“Are you okay, sweetie? They’re being nice to you?” She paused, and took a long, shaky breath. “It’s dark at night? Oh, Katie. I know you don’t like the dark.” Her voice quivered. “But remember what I told you? God wraps us up in the soft dark night to keep us safe.”

Jay winced. They were holding the child in the dark. An echo of the panic that had seized him earlier rippled through him again. He rubbed his temple where a headache was starting.

“You have Ugly Afghan? I’m so glad. Keep it wrapped tight and pretend it’s my arms, okay?”

Jay heard her voice almost break. She swallowed audibly. “Be brave, okay?” Paige continued. “No, I know you don’t like canned soup, but you eat it and stay strong. We’ll have p-pizza real soon, okay, hon—”

She stopped abruptly, listening. Jay glanced at her. Her face was still pale, her lips white with tension. “I understand,” she grated. “If you hurt her, I swear I’ll—”

She slumped. “They hung up.”

Jay glanced at the phone. Nothing showed on the display window except the battery indicator and the digital clock.

She took it away from him.

After he’d pulled back onto the road, Jay glanced at her. “So your plan is to trade me for your daughter?”

She looked at him, her eyes dark and haunted, but her chin held high. “What do you think? You’re a grown man. She’s just a baby.”

Jay allowed himself a wry smile at his earlier thought that he might be able to trust her.

“They told me they’d kill her. They’re keeping her in the dark. Katie hates the dark.” Her voice broke. “Will you help me?”

“How do you think I can help? I don’t know you. I sure don’t know them. What do you want me to do, offer myself to them?”

She met his gaze. “The Johnny I knew would have done anything in his power to protect a child.”

Jay’s heart slammed into his chest with the force of a blow. The Johnny she’d known.

“And you think I’m that man?” he asked. The effort of holding hope at bay inside him harshened his voice.

She held his gaze for a moment, her eyes wide and haunted. Then she shook her head. “I don’t know.”

An odd pang of hurt and disappointment sliced through his heart at her words.

It wasn’t hard for him to imagine how frightened and alone the child must feel. Ever since he’d awakened, wounded and lost, with murky water closing over his head, he’d been haunted by nightmarish visions of unrelenting darkness and suffocating panic.

But he’d also been comforted by the vision of a beautiful young woman, this woman. If he weren’t careful, she could make him believe in himself.

She moved to put the phone back into her pocket, and cried out softly when she moved.

“That was smart of you to record the call.”

She didn’t say anything.

Jay turned left, into what looked like a part of the swamp but was really a road. As many times as he’d driven this route, daylight, nighttime, rain, he still had trouble navigating the deep, narrow ruts.

Precisely two-tenths of a mile later, he turned again and pulled up in front of a broken-down cabin.

His safe house. It was ironic that he was here with this woman he didn’t remember who wanted him to give himself up for her child.

Paige winced in pain as the car came to an abrupt stop in front of an old abandoned shack. Ever since she’d regained consciousness and realized she was in a car with Johnny driving, she’d felt every bump in the road through her hurt shoulder. She couldn’t move it, and the pain radiating down her arm and up her neck was excruciating.

When the car stopped, she raised her head, biting back a moan. “Where are we?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Well, you can’t stop here. We have to find Katie—” She paused, realizing she had no idea where to even start looking.

Her plan had ended at Johnny’s door. She hadn’t considered what she would do after she found him. Now pain and exhaustion were making it hard to think.

Johnny came around and opened the passenger door.

“No, wait. Please. We have to go back. My daughter’s out there. They have her locked in the dark.”

“We can’t do anything until we see how badly you’re hurt. You’re just going to have to trust me.” He leaned down and looked at her. “Can you stand?”

“Of course I can.” Paige tried to move, but the seat belt held her trapped. She fumbled with the catch, her shoulder screaming with agony.

“Hold on. Let me.”

Johnny leaned over her and placed his large, callused hand on top of hers, stilling her desperate movements. She pulled her hand away and sat stiffly as he quickly and efficiently unbuckled the seat belt.

Then he slid his arms gently behind her back and under her knees.

“What are you doing?”

“Just let me carry you. You could have other injuries. You could have hit your head. You don’t need to be walking.”

Paige closed her eyes against the expectation of agonizing pain, and was surprised at the tenderness with which he lifted her into his arms.

She allowed herself to be carried. There was an awkward moment when he wrestled the cabin door open, jostling her shoulder, but soon he deposited her on a couch and went around lighting lanterns.

As light filtered into the corners of the room, Paige took in her surroundings. The shack was old and built of rough-hewn wood. The furnishings were sparse and stark.

At one end of the room were a wood stove and a counter with shelves that held a few plates and cups and pots. At the other end was a dark curtain that she figured must hide a sleeping area.

There was almost nothing to indicate that anyone lived here. But when Johnny lit the last lantern, Paige saw the sketches tacked to the wall in front of the couch.

These were dark slashes of charcoal, like nightmares brought to life under the artist’s pencil. Her heart twisted in compassion. How many times had he sat here, trying to make sense of the pieces of memory his mind fed him?

Her fertile imagination made her wonder if these were visions of his kidnapping. They evoked all her darkest emotions. Anger, fear, even hatred.

She couldn’t even imagine what he must have gone through. If the drawings were any indication, the place where they’d held him must have been a dark and frightening place.

She looked away, fear welling up in her throat until she thought she would scream. If they were holding Katie in a place like that…

“Can’t you hurry?” she asked, struggling to stand. Her knees collapsed beneath her as she reeled at the pain. “We have to find Katie.”

Johnny tossed the matches down on a table beside the last lamp he’d lit. “I need some light to look at your shoulder.”

“Fine. You’ve got light. Do something. My daughter is out there.”

He walked over to the kitchen area.

She gritted her teeth in frustration. “Aren’t you listening to me?”

He stuck a cup under her nose, a cup filled almost to the brim with a dark liquid. The sweet, hot smell of brandy hit her. “What’s that for?”

“Drink up. You’ll need something to numb the pain.”

“I can’t be drunk. I haven’t eaten all day. What if they call?”

“I’m sure if they call you’ll manage. Now drink it.” His harsh voice brooked no argument.

Paige shot him a venomous glance and reluctantly took the chipped cup. Her throbbing shoulder was sending waves of nauseating pain through her. The idea of stopping it for a little while was seductive.

She drank. The fiery stuff gagged her. She coughed, then drank some more. When she’d managed to down about half the cup, he took it and set it aside, then sat down beside her.

She tensed.

“Why did these people send you to find me? Why would they think you knew where I was?” he asked as he laid his hand on her shoulder.

Paige didn’t want to answer that question. She was stuck here, dependent on him. She had to have his help. If she told him the truth about why they’d kidnapped Katie, he might not believe her. He might not want to help her.

“That’s a good question,” she said, hoping he’d drop the subject.

“I’m listening if you want to give me a good answer,” he said, smiling slightly. “Tell me about us.” His hand gently traced the line of her shoulder, running over the place that hurt so badly, the place where she knew something was wrong.

“Us,” she repeated wryly. She was feeling woozy from the brandy, but at least every breath wasn’t total agony now.

“You said we met seven years ago.”

“In Jackson Square. I was on my way to work. I went to school during the day and worked at night.”

Johnny was feeling her shoulder with both hands now, his touch at once familiar and alien. They were Johnny’s gentle, caring fingers, but back then his hands had been soft.

Now rough calluses scraped her skin, and his arms were bronzed by the sun. He was different.

It was a very interesting difference.

“You asked if you could draw me.” She smiled sleepily. “You said I had a classic face.”

“You do.”

She lifted heavy eyelids to find his gaze roaming over her eyes and nose and mouth. It felt like gentle fingers tracing her features. His lashes shadowed his eyes as his gaze lingered on her suddenly dry lips. She licked them.

He frowned, then blinked. “I don’t think your shoulder is completely dislocated. That’s good,” he said, putting a hand on either side of her shoulder, where it hurt so bad.

“Have you ever done this before?” Paige didn’t like the way her words were coming out. They were slow and slurred. But she did like the way Johnny’s hands felt. The warmth of his roughened fingers was comforting. They seemed to soak the pain right out of her.

“Let’s say I have some experience. Tell me what happened after I drew you.”

His hands were gently massaging her shoulder. It hurt, but not as much as moving it herself did.

“I was seventeen. You may have been twenty-one.” She was back there again, sitting in the hot sun during the day while his talented hands created magic on paper. Then at night in her apartment, those hands created magic on her body. She closed her eyes as the memories stirred sweet yearnings inside her. “We fell in love.”

She had trusted him, but he’d broken her heart.

“You promised me you’d come back for me. You gave me this ring.” She started to hold up her left hand, but Johnny was squeezing her shoulder.

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