His disappearance changed her life forever.

Twenty-five years ago, Halle Lane’s best friend vanished from their Tennessee town. When a childhood photo brings Liam Hart to Winchester, Halle is certain the man is the same child who disappeared. Now Liam seeks out Halle to help him investigate the circumstances of his mysterious past. Can Liam and Halle uncover the truth before a killer buries all traces of the boy Halle loved—and the man he may have become—forever?

DEBRA WEBB is the award-winning USA TODAY bestselling author of more than one hundred novels, including those in reader-favourite series Faces of Evil, the Colby Agency and Shades of Death. With more than four million books sold in numerous languages and countries, Debra has a love of storytelling that goes back to her childhood on a farm in Alabama. Visit Debra at www.debrawebb.com

Also by Debra Webb

In Self Defense

The Dark Woods

The Stranger Next Door

The Safest Lies

Witness Protection Widow

Finding the Edge

Sin and Bone

Body of Evidence

Dark Whispers

Still Waters

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Before He Vanished

Debra Webb

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90499-9

BEFORE HE VANISHED

© 2020 Debra Webb

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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Note to Readers

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This book is dedicated to the many, many children who

go missing every day and the determined folks who

work so hard to find them.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

About the Publisher

Chapter One

NOW

Friday, March 6

Winchester, Tennessee

Halle Lane listened as her fellow newspaper reporter droned on and on about the upcoming community events in Winchester that he planned to cover, which was basically everything on the calendar for the next month.

She couldn’t really complain. Halle was new. Hardly ninety days on the job, but she knew Winchester every bit as well as Mr. Roger Hawkins. She couldn’t bring herself to call him Rog. The man was seventy if he was a day and he’d covered the social events of Winchester for about fifty of those years.

How could she—a fading-star investigative journalist from Nashville—expect to get first dibs on anything in Winchester? Hawkins had the social events, including obituaries. Her boss and the owner of the newspaper, Audrey Anderson-Tanner, generally took care of the big stories. The only potential for a break in the monotony of covering barroom brawls and petty break-ins was the fact that Audrey was pregnant. At nearly thirty-eight, she was expecting her first child.

Halle had wanted to jump for joy when she heard the news last month. She was, of course, very happy for Audrey and her husband, Sheriff Colt Tanner, but mostly she was thrilled at the idea that she might actually get her hands on a real story sometime this decade.

So far that had not happened. Audrey had covered the big federal trial of Harrison Armone last month. His son’s widow, the sole witness against him, had been hiding out in Winchester for months. Surprisingly for such a small town, Winchester had more than its share of big news happenings. This time last year a body had been discovered in the basement of this very newspaper building. Halle’s gaze shifted to the head of the conference table, where her boss listened with seemingly rapt interest as Hawkins went on and on.

It seemed Winchester also had more than its share of family secrets, as well. A man posing as a Mennonite had turned out to be a former member of a Chicago mob. Not a month later, Sasha Lenoir-Holloway had uncovered the truth about the deaths of her parents. Cece Winters had come home from prison a few months back and blown open the truth about her family and the cult-like extremists living in a remote area of Franklin County.

Nashville had nothing on Winchester, it seemed.

“This all sounds good, Rog,” Audrey said, her voice pulling Halle back to the here and now.

The boss’s gaze shifted to her and Halle realized her mistake. She had been silently bemoaning all the stories she’d missed and now it was her turn to share with those gathered what she was working on for this week’s Sunday edition.

“Halle, what do you have planned?” Audrey asked.

For five endless seconds she racked her brain for something, anything to say.

Then her gaze landed on the date written in black across the white board.

March 6.

Memories whispered through her mind. Voices and images from her childhood flooded her senses. Blond hair, blue eyes…

“The lost boy,” Halle said in a rush. The words had her heart pounding.

Of course. Why hadn’t she thought of that last month or the month before?

Audrey frowned for a moment, then made an “aha” face. “Excellent idea. We’ve just passed what? Twenty-four years?”

“Twenty-five,” Halle confirmed. “Andy Clark was my neighbor. We played together all the time as kids.”

Brian Peterson, the editor of the Winchester Gazette, chimed in next. “What makes you think Nancy Clark will allow an interview? She hasn’t in all these years.”

Audrey made a frustrated face. “That is true. You tried to interview her for both the ten-year and the twenty-year anniversaries, didn’t you?”

Brian nodded. “I did. She refused to talk about it. Since her husband passed away year before last, she’s practically a shut-in. She stopped attending church. Has whatever she needs delivered.” He shrugged, shifted his attention to Halle. “Good luck with that one.”

Halle’s anticipation deflated. Hawkins looked at her as if she were something to be pitied.

“Still,” Audrey said, “if you could get the story, it would be huge. Maybe since you and the boy, Andy, played together as children before he vanished, she might just talk to you.”

Halle’s hopes lifted once more. “I’m certain she will.”

The conference room started to buzz with excitement. Titles were tossed about. Potential placement on the front page above the fold.

All Halle had to do was make it happen.

HALLE CRUISED ALONG the street on the east side of the courthouse, braking at a crosswalk for a mother pushing a stroller. That little ache that pricked each time she saw a baby did so now. Passing thirty had flipped some switch that had her yearning for a child of her own.

Now that she was back home, her chances of finding a partner, much less having a child, had dropped to something less than zero.

Winchester was a very small town compared to Nashville. With a population of around ten thousand, if you counted Decherd in the mix, it truly was the sort of place where everyone knew everyone else.

There were times when this could be a very good thing. Like when Andy Clark went missing twenty-five years ago. Halle had been just a little kid, but she remembered well how citizens from all over this county as well as those surrounding it had rushed to help look for Andy. Headlines about “the lost boy” scrolled across every newspaper in the state. His face was all over the news. Detectives and FBI agents were in and out of the Clark home for months.

But Andy had vanished without a trace.

Halle turned onto South High Street. The Clark home was on the corner of South High and Sixth Avenue. The historic Victorian was among the town’s oldest homes. A meticulously manicured lawn and sprawling front porch greeted visitors. She pulled to the curb in front of the house and shut off the engine. The ancient maple on the Sixth Avenue side of the lawn had been Andy’s and her favorite climbing tree.

Next door was Halle’s childhood home. Her parents, Judith and Howard, had been thrilled when she’d announced last Christmas that she would be moving back to Winchester. They had, of course, insisted that she move back into her old room. As much as she appreciated the offer and adored her parents, that was not happening. Eventually the two had talked her into taking the apartment over the detached garage where her Aunt Daisy, the old maid everyone always whispered about, had once lived, God rest her soul.

Considering she would have her own parking spot and a separate entrance, Halle decided it wasn’t such a bad idea. She would have her privacy and her parents would have their only daughter—only child, actually—living at home again.

A win-win for all involved. As long as she didn’t dwell on the fact that she had turned thirty-two at the end of last month and that her one and only marriage had ended in divorce two years ago or that her ex-husband had since remarried and had a child—no matter that he had said they were too young for children when she had wanted one.

Not.

Maybe the garage apartment was fitting considering her mother’s peers all now whispered about her unmarried status. Bless her heart, she’s like poor Daisy.

Halle heaved a weary sigh.

The divorce had turned her world upside down, shaken her as nothing ever had. She’d lost her footing, and the upheaval had shown in her work. Just as she’d begun to pull her professional self together again, she’d been let go. Cutbacks, they had said. But she’d known the truth. Her work had sucked for two years.

It was a flat-out miracle they had allowed her to keep working as long as they had.

Luckily for Halle, Audrey was open to second chances. She had understood how one’s life could go completely awry. Though the Winchester Gazette was only a small biweekly newspaper, it was a reasonable starting place to rebuild Halle’s career.

She climbed out of the car, draped her leather bag over her shoulder and closed the door. The midmorning air was crisp but Halle much preferred it to what would come between June and September. The melting heat and suffocating humidity. The not-so-pleasant part of Southern living.

Stepping up onto the porch, she heard the swing chains squeak as the breeze nudged this wooden mainstay of every Southern porch gently back and forth. On the other end of the sprawling outdoor space stood a metal glider, still sporting its original green paint, offering a restful place to sit and watch the street. But Mrs. Clark never sat on her porch anymore. Halle’s mother had said the lady rarely stepped out the door, just as Brian had also mentioned. But Mrs. Clark did come to the door as long as she could identify the person knocking or ringing her bell. Whether she opened the door was another story.

Halle hadn’t attempted to visit her in years. She was relatively certain she hadn’t seen the woman since her husband’s funeral two years ago. The one thing Halle never had to worry about was being recognized. With her fiery mass of unruly red curls, the impossible-to-camouflage freckles and the mossy green eyes, folks rarely forgot her face. The other kids in school had been ruthless with the ginger-and-carrottop jokes but Andy had always defended her…at least until he was gone.

God, she had missed her best friend. Even at seven, losing your best friend was incredibly traumatic.

Halle stepped to the door and lifted her fist and knocked.

“What do you want?”

The voice behind the closed door was a little rusty, as if it wasn’t used often, but it was reasonably strong.

“Mrs. Clark, you might not remember me—”

“Of course I remember you. What do you want?”

It was a starting place.

“Ma’am, may I come inside and speak with you?” She bit her bottom lip and searched for a good reason. “It’s a little chilly here on the porch.” Not exactly true, but not entirely a lie.

A latch clicked. Anticipation caught her breath. Another click and the knob turned. The door drew inward a couple of feet. Nancy Clark stood in the shadows beyond the reach of daylight. Her hair looked as unruly as Halle’s and it was as white as cotton. She was shorter than Halle remembered.

“Come in.”

The door drew inward a little more and Halle crossed the threshold. Her heart was really pumping now. She reminded herself that just because she was inside didn’t mean she would manage an interview.

One step at a time, Hal.

The elderly lady closed the door and locked it. So maybe she anticipated Halle staying awhile. Another good sign.

“I was having tea in the kitchen,” that rusty voice said.

When she turned and headed deeper into the gloom of the house, Halle followed. She knew this house as well as she knew her own. Until she was seven years old it had been her second home. More of those childhood memories whispered through her, even ones her mother had told her about before Halle was old enough to retain the images herself.

Her mother had laughed and recounted to her the many times she’d had tea with Nancy while the babies toddled around the kitchen floor. The Clarks had not always lived in Winchester, Halle’s mother had told her. They had bought the house when their little boy was two years old, just before Easter. Judith Lane had been thrilled to have a neighbor with a child around the same age as her own. Halle had been twenty months old. Even the fathers, Howard and Andrew, had become fast friends.

It was perfect for five years.

Then Andy disappeared.

The shriek of the kettle yanked Halle’s attention back to the present.

“You want cream?”

“That would be nice.” She forced a smile into place as she stood in the kitchen watching Mrs. Clark fix the tea.

Nancy prepared their tea in classic bone china patterned with clusters of pink flowers ringing the cups. She placed the cups in their saucers and then onto a tray. She added the matching cream pitcher and sugar bowl.

Halle held her breath as the elderly woman with her tiny birdlike arms carried the tray to the dining table. To be back in this home, after so many years, to be talking with this woman who’d occupied a special place in her heart because of her relationship to Andy was enough to make Halle feel lightheaded.

“Get the cookies,” Nancy called over her shoulder.

Halle turned back to the counter and picked up the small plate, then followed the same path the lady had taken. They sat, added sugar to their tea and then tested the taste and heat level. Mrs. Clark offered the plate of cookies and Halle took a small one and nibbled.

Rather than rush the conversation, she reacquainted herself with the paintings and photographs on the wall. Beyond the wide doorway, she could see the stunning painting over the fireplace in the main parlor. Andy had been five at the time. His hair had been so blond, his eyes so blue. Such a sweet and handsome boy. She hadn’t a clue about what handsome even was or any of that stuff back then; she had only known that she loved him like another part of her family…of herself. They had been inseparable.

“Twenty-five years.”

Halle’s attention swung to the woman who sat at the other end of the table. She looked so frail, so small. The many wrinkles on her face spoke of more than age. They spoke of immense pain, harrowing devastation. Worrying for twenty-five long years if her child was alive. If he had been tortured and murdered.

If she would ever see him again.

“Yes, ma’am,” Halle agreed.

Nancy Clark set her tea cup down and placed her palms flat on the table. “You want to write an article about him, don’t you?”

Halle dared to nod, her heart pounding. This was the moment of truth. Would she be able to persuade Mrs. Clark to open up to her, to give her the answers she needed as much for the story as for her own peace of mind? “It would mean a great deal to me.”

“If you’ve done your homework, you’re aware I’ve never given an interview. Nor did my Andrew.”

“I am and I understand why.”

Her head angled ever so slightly as she stared down the table at Halle. “Really? What is it you think you understand?”

Halle nodded. “How can you adequately articulate that kind of loss? That sort of pain? You loved him more than anything in this world and someone took him from you. How could you possibly find the right words?”

Mrs. Clark’s gaze fell first, then her head bowed.

Halle held her breath. Whether the lady believed her or agreed with her, Halle did understand. She had loved Andy, too, and she had missed him so very badly.

Deep down she still did. A part of her was missing. There was a hole that no one else could possibly fill. The bond between them had been strong.

When Mrs. Clark lifted her head once more, she stared directly at Halle for so long she feared she had said the wrong thing. She was making a decision, Halle knew, but what would it be?

“Very well,” she said slowly but firmly. “I will tell you the story and you can find the right words. It’s time.”

Halle’s lips spread into a smile and she nodded. “I would love to.”

Silence filled the room for a long minute.

“I was almost forty before the good Lord blessed me with a child.”

Halle reached into her bag for her notepad and a pen. “Do you mind if I take notes?”

A glint of bravado flashed in Nancy’s gray eyes. “I’d mind if you didn’t.”

A nervous laugh bubbled up in Halle’s throat, and she relaxed. She placed her notepad on the table and flipped to a clean page, then readied her pen.

“Andrew and I were so happy when Andy came into our lives,” Nancy said, her voice soft, her gaze lost to some faraway time and place. “We wanted to raise our boy somewhere safe, with good schools. We did a great deal of research before selecting Winchester.” She sighed. “It was perfect when we found this house right next door to a couple who had a child almost the same age.” She stared at Halle for a moment. “Andy adored you.”

“I adored him.”

Distance filled her gaze once more. “We were happier than we’d ever believed it was possible to be.”

“What do you remember about that day, Mrs. Clark?”

It wasn’t necessary for Halle to be more specific. The other woman understood what she meant.

“March 1. Wednesday. I walked to school with you and Andy that day. It was chilly, like today.” Her lips—lips that hung in a perpetual frown—lifted slightly with a faint smile. “He was wearing that worn-out orange hoodie. He loved that thing but it was so old and shabby. I feared the other children would make fun of him.”

“I remember that hoodie. I begged my mother to get me one just like it but, you know my parents, they’re hardcore Alabama football fans. No orange allowed. And don’t worry, no one ever made fun of Andy. All the other kids liked him.”

Mrs. Clark dabbed at her eyes with her napkin. “Thank you for saying so.”

“My dad picked me up early that afternoon,” Halle said. “He’d had to take Mother to the hospital.”

Nancy nodded. “I remember.”

What Halle’s mother had thought was a lingering cold turned out to be pneumonia. She’d almost waited too long before admitting that she needed to see a doctor. They’d hospitalized her immediately. Halle had stayed with her Aunt Daisy for a solid week in that garage apartment where she lived now.

But that day, March 1 twenty-five years ago, the police had arrived before supper. Within twenty-four hours reporters from all over the state were camped out on the street.

Andy Clark had vanished.

“I was late,” Nancy confessed, pain twisting her face. “Andrew was at work in Tullahoma and I had a flat tire. With your parents at the hospital, there was nothing to do but call someone to repair my tire. By the time I was backing out of the driveway, school had been out for only fifteen minutes but that was fifteen minutes too long.”

“According to the police report,” Halle said, “witnesses stated that Andy waited about ten minutes and then started to walk home.”

She nodded. “There were witnesses who saw him less than a block from home.”

Whoever took him had snatched him only a few hundred yards from his own front door.

“There was never a ransom demand,” Halle said. “No contact at all from the kidnapper.”

“Nothing.” A heavy breath shook the woman’s frail shoulders. “It was as if he disappeared into thin air.”

“You and your husband hired private investigators.” Halle’s parents had said as much.

“The police and our community searched for weeks. But there was nothing. Not the hoodie. Not his backpack. Nothing. No other witnesses ever came forward.”

These were all details Halle already knew. But perhaps there would be others she didn’t. Something that no one knew. There was one thing she would very much like to know. She hoped the question wouldn’t put Mrs. Clark off.

“I would like to ask you one question before we go any further.”

The lady held her gaze, a surprising courage in her expression. “I’m listening.”

“What made you decide to grant an interview now? To me?”

The courage vanished and that dark hollowness was back.

Halle immediately regretted having asked the question. When she was about to open her mouth to apologize, Mrs. Clark spoke.

“I’m dying. I have perhaps two or three months. It’s time the world knew the whole story. If anyone tells it, it should be you.”

A chill rushed over Halle’s skin. “I will do all within my power to tell the story the way you want it told.”

“I’m counting on you, Halle. I want the whole story told the right way.”

Halle nodded slowly, though she wasn’t entirely clear what the older woman meant by the whole story. But she fully intended to find out.

Whatever had happened to Andy, the world needed to know.

Halle needed to know.

THEN

Wednesday, March 1

Twenty-five years ago…

HALLE HATED HER pink jacket.

Pink was for scaredy-cat girls. She was a girl but she was no scaredy-cat.

She was a brave, strong kid like Andy.

She wanted an orange hoodie like the one he wore.

“Wear this jacket today,” her mom said with a big sigh, “and I will get you an orange one.”

Halle made a face. She might only be seven but she wasn’t sure if her mommy was telling her the truth or if she was just too tired to argue.

“Promise?”

Judith smiled and offered her little finger. “Pinkie promise.”

Halle curled her pinkie around her mommy’s. “Okay.”

“Come along,” Mommy urged. “Andy and his mom are waiting.”

At the door her mommy gave her a kiss and waved as Halle skipped out to the sidewalk where Andy and his mom stood.

He had on that orange hoodie and Halle hoped her mommy was really going to get her one.

“Hey,” Halle said.

Andy tipped his head back the tiniest bit. “Hey.”

He had the bluest eyes of any kid in school. Halle wondered how it was possible to have eyes that blue. Bluer than the sky even.

“How are you this morning, Halle?” Mrs. Clark asked.

“I’m good but my mommy’s still a little sick.” Halle didn’t like when her mommy or daddy was sick. It made her tummy ache.

“I’m sure she’ll be better soon,” Mrs. Clark assured her. “That pink jacket looks awfully pretty with your red hair.”

Halle grimaced. “Thank you but I don’t like it very much.” She gazed longingly at Andy’s orange hoodie.

He took her hand. “Come on. We’re gonna be late.”

Halle smiled. He was the best friend ever. They were going to be friends forever and ever.

They walked along, swinging their clasped hands and singing that silly song they’d made up during winter break.

We’re gonna sail on a ship…

We’re gonna fly on a plane…

We’re gonna take that train…

We’re taking a trip…

But Andy wasn’t supposed to go without her.

Chapter Two

NOW

Wednesday, March 11Napa, California

“This one is addressed to you personally.”

Liam glanced up from the monthly reports he’d been poring over. “What was that?”

His assistant peered over her reading glasses. “Please tell me that’s a dating site you’re focused on, because if it’s work, I’m going to be very upset. This is supposed to be a day off for you. You’ve been working seven days a week for months now. You need a life, Liam Hart! And I need at least one afternoon to try organizing this…clutter.” She surveyed the stacks and piles of binders and folders around his office. “You need someone to do your filing.”

Liam closed his laptop before she dared to come around behind him and peek at his screen. “I like my filing system,” he pointed out. “You know as well as I do that a little extra time in the fields goes with the territory after a particularly wet season. All that rain calls for extra attention. We both know there’s always plenty to do in preparation for—”

She gave him a look that stopped him midsentence. Shelly Montrose had kicked aside the idea of retiring at sixty-five, over two years ago. She had worked for this vineyard for most of her life, first as a picker when she was a child, right after the operation was started by the Josephson family. Then as his father’s and now his personal assistant for the past twenty odd years. She was in charge and no one was going to tell her differently.

Certainly not Liam. She knew as much about running this place as he did. Probably more.

“Claire said,” he offered in his most amenable tone, since the last thing in the world he wanted to do was upset his favorite lady, “there were reports I needed to see, so I only came by for a couple of hours and then I’m off. I promise.”

Claire was his younger sister. At only twenty-five she’d already finished college and had proven herself as a master winemaker. She would say that their continued success since their father’s passing was as much Liam’s hard work as her own, but that wasn’t entirely true. Yes, he was out there in the fields working alongside his crew through the process of winemaking, from tending the plants to bottling. But it was Claire who had the creative vision in developing unique blends and tastes that had put them on the map over the past two years. Their father would be proud.

“Claire.” Shelly huffed a breath. “That girl is as bad as you are. She’s never going to find a husband if she doesn’t stay out of this vineyard! Your daddy took time to raise the two of you and the vineyard didn’t go to pot. Your mother is traveling all over Europe and she has repeatedly invited the two of you to join her. Now would be the perfect time for a nice vacation.”

“You’re right, Shelly.” Liam stood and gave her his best smile. “I’m heading out for lunch with a friend right now. The monthly reports be damned.”

Her eyes rounded. “A female friend?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He reached for his cap and tugged it on. “She’s a pretty, blue-eyed girl.”

Shelly rolled her eyes and extended the envelope toward him. “Your sister doesn’t count.”

Liam accepted the letter, tucked it into the hip pocket of his jeans and started around his desk. “I won’t tell her you said that.”

He left the office and walked through the winery. He loved this place. The rustic beams overhead, the decades-old barrels used for aging. The cobblestone floor. This was his life. Deep down he wouldn’t mind having someone to share it with, but that hadn’t happened so far. Maybe it was his fault for being so focused on work. But he loved his job. He couldn’t imagine not doing exactly what he did every day.

Outside, the stunning valley view never ceased to make him pause to take it all in. The trees and the pond, all of it gave him a feeling of home. He’d lived right here on this former chicken farm for as far back as he could remember. His father bought the place from the previous owners who had lost interest in trying to jump-start the business after several years of hard times. Over the decades his father had renovated the place into one of sheer beauty and productivity. The vineyards were gorgeous. But they had never been able to compete with the top winemakers when it came to the wines they created.

Liam’s father had been good, damned good, but not nearly as good as Claire. She was one of a kind. A rare vintner with a special touch.

He climbed into his truck and slid behind the steering wheel. The crinkling of the envelope in his back pocket reminded him that he had mail. He started the truck and reached for the envelope.

As Shelly had said, it wasn’t addressed to the Hart Family Vineyards, but to him. Liam Hart.

No return address on the front or on the back. He frowned, lifted the flap enough to slide his thumb beneath it and to tear it open. Inside was a newspaper, or, at least, part of one. The front page, to be precise. He unfolded the single page and first noted the name of the paper, Winchester Gazette, Winchester, Tennessee. Then he scanned the bold headline at the top of the page.

The Lost Boy—25 Years Later.

His frown deepened. Why would anyone send him a newspaper clipping from Winchester, Tennessee? He checked the postmark. Yep, definitely from Winchester.

To his knowledge he didn’t know anyone in the area. He searched his memory. There was, if he recalled correctly, a winery near Winchester. Though not one he’d ever visited. Rather than beat his head against a brick wall trying to remember, he started to read.

Seven-year-old Andy Clark disappeared on March 1, twenty-five years ago. To date there have been no remains found. No further witnesses came forward with reports of having seen the child. He left school, walking, and was nearly home when he vanished, never to be heard from again.

The article went on about the boy and his devastated family and the endless search.

Liam’s gut tightened. He avoided stories like this. Every time he heard about a missing child on the news, he felt sick. A natural reaction, he supposed. Who wouldn’t get sick at the idea? What kind of person stole a child?

He started to fold the paper and toss it aside, but his gaze landed on the series of photos included with the article.

The beating in his chest lost a step, then suddenly burst into hyper speed.

The photos of the little boy were…

Him.

Not just the chubby-cheeked image of any child, but his particular features, his smile, his eyes, his…attitude.

“No way,” he muttered, his face pinched as he stared at the images.

Okay, this was bizarre. Shaking his head at his foolishness, he backed out of the parking slot and drove across the property, past the pond and the visitors’ deck, to the private residence. Both he and his sister lived in the house. She had the wing that had once been the guest suite while he slept in the room he’d had for as long as he could remember. Suited him just fine. Though he had stored away the sports trophies and award certificates from school. His space was more of a bachelor pad.

A bachelor who still lived in the house where he’d grown up.

“Nothing wrong with that,” he said to his reflection in the rearview mirror.

The newspaper clipping clasped tightly, he climbed out of the truck and walked to the house. He entered the key code and opened the door.

His heart still raced as he strode across the entry hall and toward the family room. His mother had all the family photo albums lined up on shelves. She loved nothing more than showing off her kids. She was actually Liam’s stepmother; his biological mom had died when he was a baby. But Penelope Hart had treated him as much like her own as she had Claire—whom she’d given birth to.

If Penelope were here she would get a kick out of the photos in the newspaper article. He managed a smile at the thought but still…this felt weird. Particularly since someone on the other side of the country had mailed it to him. As far as he knew, he had no friends, relatives or even acquaintances in the area.

This was obviously someone’s idea of a joke.

He spread the newspaper’s front page on the coffee table, then strode to the bookcases built along the wall adjacent to the fireplace. Penelope had carefully dated each album. Finding the one for the proper time frame was easy. He carried the album to the coffee table and sat down on the edge of the couch.

His breath caught in his throat. The resemblance between him and the missing boy was uncanny. Completely bizarre. He removed two photos from the album and placed them next to the images in the newspaper.

“Holy…” Looking at the photos side by side triggered a strong emotion he couldn’t label, which sank deep into his bones.

There had to be an explanation. Maybe he’d been a twin and his parents hadn’t known. The missing child could have been his twin brother. His father had told him that he and his mother had been homeless when he was born. Living in the hills and woods of northern California like a couple of disenfranchised hippies. Who knew what sort of prenatal care she received?

It was possible that there had been two babies.

He moved his head side to side. Even as shaken as he was at the moment, he recognized he was reaching with that scenario.

Leaving the disturbing newspaper where it lay, he walked out of the family room and along the corridor until he came to the office that had been his father’s—the office that was his now. He hit the switch, turning on the lights. The closet had been turned into a built-in safe. Using the dial, he quickly went through the combination steps, lifted the lever and opened it. He located the file with birth certificates and withdrew his. His fingers roamed over the state seal as he considered the information printed on the document. Nothing unusual or unexpected there. Closing the safe, he moved to one of the many file cabinets and looked through the folders until he found the one with his name. Inside was his school vaccination record. His academic reports.

He flipped through page after page.

It was all there. From kindergarten through senior year and then his acceptance papers for the University of California.

What was he doing?

He closed the filing drawer and walked out, turning off the lights as he went. Whoever sent the paper to him had accomplished his mission. The joke was on Liam.

As he left the house, he grabbed the newspaper and the photos of him as a kid. He had to show this to Claire.

His sister was a hell of a mystery buff. Maybe someone would get a laugh out of this.

Angele Restaurant

“I THOUGHT I’d been stood up,” Claire chided as he pulled out a chair at her table.

“Sorry, there was something I had to do.” He reached for his water glass and considered ordering a shot of bourbon. Sweat had beaded on his forehead during the drive here.

It was ridiculous. Heart palpitations and sweating? He was a little freaked out. He had to get a grip.

Maybe Shelly was right. He had been working too hard. He needed a break.

“I’ve already ordered for the both of us. Roasted chicken salad.” She placed one hand atop the other on the table and studied him. “What’s wrong? You look—” she shrugged “—strangely unsettled.”

His sister had Penelope’s eyes. Blue but a light blue, almost gray. Her hair was a darker blond than his, as well, more brown than blond. But the high cheekbones and the Roman nose, she’d gotten both those from their father, just as Liam had.

He pulled the folded newspaper and the two photos from the family album out of his hip pocket and placed them on the table. “Someone mailed this newspaper page to me. No name or return address. Just the front page of this small-town newspaper.” He tapped the now wrinkled page.

While Claire read, Liam surveyed the restaurant. He’d been here a hundred times at least. The rustic French decor was not unlike their home, which Penelope and his father had turned into a classic yet rustic French château. It was warm and relaxing, much like this restaurant. And the food here was the best in Napa. He had yet to order a single dish that was anything less than incredible.

Claire placed the newspaper on the table, folded so that the photos of the boy—Andy Clark—were prominent. Then she laid the two photos of Liam next to them.

“Holy moly,” she whispered. “This is…this is totally cray cray.”

Crazy. Definitely.

“There was no name on the envelope?” she asked though he’d already told her as much.

He shook his head. “No name. No address. But the envelope is postmarked Winchester, Tennessee.”

She stared at the paper again. “Have you ever been to this place?”

“Never.”

“Well.” She refolded the paper and tucked the loose photos inside the fold before passing the tidy bundle to him. “Someone thinks you have.”

He made a sound he’d intended as a laugh, but it came out more like a choking noise. “What does that mean?”

“It means that whoever sent you this newspaper clipping believes you are this boy.”

This notion had been festering in the back of his brain since he opened the damned envelope but he had refused to allow it to fully reach the surface.

“That’s insane.” He shook his head. “How would this person even know who I am or where I live?”

“I don’t know.” Claire’s brow lined the way it did when she was stumped by some issue with a new blend she’d created.

“Hey,” he argued, “come on. We grew up together. You know this is impossible as well as ridiculous.”

She stared at him, unblinking, unflinching. “You were almost eight when I was born. We grew up together after that point.” She glanced at the bundled paper lying next to his water glass.

“Now you’re just being a—”

“No,” she countered, “think about it. This could be real, Liam. Go back to the house and look at the family photo albums again. Try to find any of yourself—at least any in which you can see your face—between being a little baby and seven or eight years old.”

“What?” Now he got it. She had done this. As a prank. Yes, that had to be it. She wanted him to work for the payoff, sending him on a wild-goose chase. “You did this because of what I did on your birthday.” He shook his head, felt a sudden rush of relief. “I told you I was sorry. You didn’t have to go to this extreme.”

When she’d turned twenty-five, he’d put one of those happy birthday ads in the Napa Valley Register announcing that Claire was actually thirty. She had not thought it was funny. She had warned that she would get even with him.

He laughed. Laughed long and hard, almost lost his breath as waves of giddy relief washed over him.

When he’d finished, the people at several tables were staring at them.

“You finished?” she demanded, one eyebrow hiked up.

He held up his hands. “You got me, sis. I have to tell you, I was freaking out.”

“I didn’t do this, Liam.” Her tone was flat and serious.

That chill he’d been fighting since he’d opened that damned envelope seeped into his bones anew.

“Okay.” He suddenly wished he hadn’t told her. Maybe she didn’t have some fake newspaper printed and mailed to him from Winchester, Tennessee, but she was sure taking advantage of the opportunity.

“I even asked Mom once.”

Enough. And yet, he couldn’t not take the bait. “Asked her what?”

“Why there were no pictures of you during kindergarten or when you were three or four. There are hundreds of me, but there’s this big gap in your documented history. I thought it was strange.”

“I can honestly say I’ve never noticed.” Why the hell didn’t the food arrive? Anything to change the subject. Now he didn’t want to talk about it.

“Of course you haven’t. That’s a girl thing. The women maintain the family photos and store keepsakes. Most guys don’t even notice.”

“What did she say?” He really wanted this discussion to end. He should have taken the day off like Shelly said.

“She said the photos and stuff for that time period were lost in a fire.”

“There you go.” He shrugged, felt some measure of relief once more. “That explains it.”

“No, that doesn’t explain anything. Because I asked Joe about the fire and he had no idea what I was talking about.”

“Joe Brown?” Liam held up his hands. “Claire, Joe died when you were thirteen.”

Joe had been the vineyard manager when Liam was growing up. In truth he’d been like an uncle to both him and Claire.

“I asked about the photos when I was twelve. Remember that school project I had to do using family photos? It was that ancestry thing.”

He shrugged again, his frustration building far too rapidly. “Not really.”

“I’m telling you that I asked Mother and she made up a story about a fire in the family room. When I mentioned the fire to Joe, he said there was never a fire in the house. Never, Liam.”

“I’m not talking about this anymore.” He didn’t know what he’d expected Claire to say when he’d shown her the clipping and photos, but once he’d latched on to the prank theory, he’d realized how much he wanted that to be true. Not this…this other possibility.

Thankfully, the food arrived, saving him from having to argue further with Claire. He should have known better than to tell her about this.

When the waiter had moved on, Liam dug in. He hadn’t realized until that moment that he was starving. Hopefully, Claire would take his cue and eat instead of pursuing this ridiculous idea.

Unfortunately, the silence didn’t last long.

“We should call Mom.”

“For the love of God, Claire.” He put his fork down and braced his palms on the table. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. The whole notion is ludicrous. I shouldn’t have shown you the article.”

She reached across the table and snatched up the newspaper, opened it enough to find whatever she was looking for. She tapped the byline beneath the headline. “You need to call this Halle Lane. Maybe she sent the newspaper to you.”

When he didn’t respond, she went further. “Maybe you should do better than call,” she said. “Maybe go to Winchester. Check this out in person.”

He looked at her as if she’d suggested he go to the moon. He now regretted even reading the article, let alone sharing it with her.

“I think you should.” She gave him a nod. “Maybe the visit will trigger a memory of living there.”

He rolled his eyes. “The only thing I remember about being seven is a bicycle accident that gave me a broken arm and a concussion.”

It was the worst memory of his childhood.

But it was real, and his father had been right there with him through the whole thing.

THEN

Twenty-five years ago…

“I’M SCARED AND my head hurts bad. My arm, too.”

His father’s arms tightened around him, pulling him closer to his chest—close enough that he could feel his heart pounding. His father was scared, too.

“You’re going to be fine, son. The doctor says you have a mild concussion. I promise you’ll be better in a few days.”

He closed his eyes tighter and tried to remember why he was so scared. He remembered the headlights coming at him. He remembered falling. For a moment he’d thought he was dead.

Then his father had been there telling him he was okay. Calling an ambulance.

He remembered drifting in and out. He wanted to stay awake but it was so hard. He couldn’t keep his eyes open and going to sleep made the pain go away.

His father wouldn’t let him sleep. He’d wake him up each time he drifted off.

“Stay with me now.”

Lights pulsed in the darkness. Made his head hurt worse. He wanted to go home. He was cold. So cold. His head hurt so bad. And his arm. He couldn’t move it without the pain making him cry harder.

Two men in uniforms suddenly hovered over him in his memory or the dream he was having. It was hard to tell which. They kept telling him he would be okay. They were taking him to the hospital. He would get to ride in the ambulance.

But he didn’t want to go to the hospital.

He wanted to go home.

Why couldn’t he just go home?

He felt his body being moved. Lifted onto a stretcher and then they rolled him to the ambulance.

His father climbed in with him, sat close to him, kept telling him he would be fine.

He only wanted to close his eyes and pretend this didn’t happen. He didn’t want to be in an ambulance. He didn’t want his head and arm to hurt so bad.

He wanted to go home.

The ambulance was moving now and he suddenly felt the urge to throw up. He struggled to hold it back. Didn’t want to throw up in front of these strangers.

He felt weird. Like he was here, except not.

He just wanted to go home.

Tears slid down his face. He felt them slip into his ears. His head and arm hurt too much to bother trying to wipe them away.

He felt hands on his face, wiping away his tears. His father leaned close, his lips to his forehead. “Shhh, don’t cry, sweet Liam. Everything will be fine. You will be fine.”

He realized then why he was so afraid.

Who was Liam?

Chapter Three

NOW

Thursday, March 12Winchester, Tennessee

Halle had beamed all week. Today was no exception. Lunch with Audrey, her boss, had proven she had every right to be excited. The entire staff at the paper was immensely proud of her, even Rog.

Her story on the lost boy had been picked up through wire services in some of the largest markets in the country. Reporters had flocked to Winchester. One of the biggest network morning shows had asked to interview her.

She had done it. She’d made her comeback as a journalist.

A grin slid across her face. And her old friend Andy Clark had helped her. This was the story she had needed to get her career back on track. It had been right under her nose all along.

She’d spent the afternoon walking on clouds but now it was time to get to work. Reality had slammed into her at about four. It was five thirty now. Most of the staff had gone home. Only Tanya, the receptionist downstairs in the lobby, and Brian, the editor, were still in the main office. Halle was fairly certain Brian never went home. He probably had a cot in the basement. As for Tanya, Halle was equally certain she had a thing for Brian and hung around just to be near him.

Audrey wanted Halle to focus solely on this case. They’d been swamped with tips since the story ran, everything from alien abduction suggestions to complicated tales of crime rings. Audrey wanted her to find the rest of the story. What really happened to Andy Clark? Mrs. Clark had said she would be happy to talk to Halle more.

If the police and the FBI hadn’t been able to figure it out, how in the world was she supposed to do it?

She wanted to, certainly. She would have her choice of any assignment in the country if she managed to dig up that whole story.

But the idea was a little off the charts.

Halle moistened her lips, ordered her heart to slow its damned galloping.

Maybe she could do this. Audrey had given her full access to any necessary resources. She’d even offered to introduce her to Luther Holcomb, the chief of police at the time of Andy’s disappearance. Holcomb was a bit of a hermit nowadays but Audrey’s husband, Sheriff Colt Tanner, knew the man personally.

Before she did anything else, she needed to see Mrs. Clark again. The older woman had gotten a headache and had to lie down the last time they spoke about Andy. On Sunday afternoon, she had gone to her house again and taken her two copies of the newspaper. She’d reiterated then that perhaps they could make the articles a series. Get deeper into the story of before and after Andy. Mrs. Clark had actually sounded excited about the possibility.

What Audrey had asked Halle to do was different. Her vision was about finding the whole story, to do what the police and detectives hadn’t been able to do—discover what really happened to Andy. Mrs. Clark had said she wanted the entire tale told. Maybe she should start by asking where would Andy be now if he was alive? Where did he go that day and who took him? What parent wouldn’t want to know what really happened to their child?

It was worth a shot. She cringed as she thought of resurrecting Mrs. Clark’s pain. Reporters weren’t supposed to have soft hearts. Being ruthless and relentless was more than a little important to get to the truth.

Still, this was different. This was Andy and Andy’s mother.

Mrs. Clark had okayed pursuing the story so far. If Halle had misunderstood the woman’s intent, she would have to back off. She didn’t really want to go down this path without her blessing. It felt wrong.

She wouldn’t use Andy or his mother just to advance her career. If she continued with the story it would be because she wanted the truth as much as Mrs. Clark did. She stared at the stack of messages on her desk. Networks and newspapers from across the country wanted to talk to her.

She could do this even if Mrs. Clark changed her mind after all the notoriety—as long as she was careful not to cause pain for the woman. Of course she would never do such a thing. Mrs. Clark and her husband had been victims of the worst kind of crime. They didn’t deserve to be hurt any further. Halle couldn’t be the reason for that.

She wouldn’t be.

Her cell rang and she checked the screen. Mom.

“Hey, Mom.” She almost added that yes, she would be home for dinner since that was likely the reason for the call.

“Hey, sweetie. Just wanted to warn you that the reporters have already started to camp on the sidewalk.”

The crew had been here in the parking lot all day every day this week. They had figured out her schedule, particularly when she headed home. So far, a deputy had escorted Halle to her car each evening. But she hadn’t called for an escort today. The reporters had figured out her MO. Now they waited for her at home.

She couldn’t hold it against them. She would do and had done the same thing.

“Do you and Dad want to meet me for dinner somewhere?”

“No, that’s not necessary. I’ve already started dinner. Your favorite, lasagna. I just wanted to be sure you would be here and to warn you about the vultures out front.”

Halle laughed. “I’m one of those vultures, Mom.”

The whisper of her chuckle reached across the line. “I’m sure you’re always thoughtful and considerate when going after a story.”

“Of course,” Halle fibbed as she remembered times when she’d had to be aggressive to get to a reluctant source. “You and Dad raised me that way.”

“So you’ll be here? Maybe you can park on the street behind us and sneak in again so they won’t bother you. Or I could have Daddy sit on the porch with his shotgun.”

The idea made Halle smile in spite of herself. “No, Mom, that’s not necessary. I’ll be fine. I’ll be home around six or so.”

“All right, sweetie. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Halle ended the call and stared at her cell for a moment. Her parents had raised her to be kind. Though she had always been relentless going after the story, she did try to be considerate—most of the time.

She pulled open her middle drawer and picked up the photo she’d brought to the office as inspiration while she wrote the article on the lost boy. It was a picture of her with Andy the fall before he went missing. They were at the school Halloween carnival. She had been dressed as a fairy with wings and all. He’d been Batman, complete with the cape and mask. Their faces were jammed cheek to cheek for the shot. She couldn’t recall which mother snapped the pic, hers or his.

There were so many fun times like this one. She’d spent the first year after he was lost in a state of depression. Her parents had tried every way to cheer her up but nothing had worked. Finally, she had moved on to some degree. By the time she was ten she had stopped being so sad but she still missed him.

But she had always wondered what if. What if he hadn’t disappeared? What if they had grown up together? Would they still be friends? Would it have turned into more? They had pretended to get married once. A smile tugged at her lips. She and her parents had attended the wedding of the daughter of a friend of her mother’s. Halle had been so enthralled by the decorated church and the wedding dress she had rushed home afterward and told Andy they had to get married.

He’d shrugged and said okay. He’d always been up for whatever made her happy.

Funny, maybe that was why she’d never found the right guy. Maybe the right guy had disappeared twenty-five years ago.

“I’m sorry, Halle.”

She looked up as Tanya burst into the room.

“I tried to tell him we were closed. I was locking up when he bullied his way through the door.”

A tall man stood in the corridor beyond Tanya. She watched his nervous movements through the open door. He was looking side to side as if he feared security would be showing up any second.

“He says he needs to speak with you about the article.”

She sighed. “Is he a reporter?”

“No. He said he has some information, though. And some questions.”

They’d had a lot of emails with “clues” since the article ran, nearly all of them crazy, some asking if there was reward money, many mentioning children who looked like the photos of Andy, as if he would still be seven years old. She wasn’t up to talking to one of those tipsters face-to-face.

Tanya went on, “He says he has some pictures.”

A shiver ran up Halle’s spine. Maybe she’d talk to this one, just this one, and get him out of the way so Tanya could go home.

“It’s all right, Tanya.” Halle stood. “I’ll talk to him.”

Tanya nodded and turned to go. The man stepped out of her way and she hurried off down the corridor.

That was the moment Halle got her first full glimpse of the unexpected visitor as he stepped into her office doorway.

Tall, blond. Very good-looking.

His gaze collided with hers.

Blue eyes. The bluest she had ever seen.

Her heart stumbled. Tension rifled through her, and her face flushed, her muscles clenched.

“How…” She cleared her throat of the strange emotion lodged there. “How can I help you?”

He held out a wrinkled page from a newspaper. “Are you Halle Lane?”

She nodded, still grappling for composure. Who was this man? “Yes.”

He stepped fully into her office, still holding out the newspaper as if it were a weapon or something otherwise lethal. The thought chilled her. Why had she said she’d see him? “Did you write this article?”

She extended her arm across her desk. He shoved the newspaper close enough for her to take it from him without touching his fingers or his hand. It was the front page of Sunday’s paper, the one with her article on Andy’s disappearance.

“Yes. I did.”

His jaw tightened. “Did you mail that to me?” he snapped.

She blinked. “What? No. I don’t even know your name, sir. How could I mail anything to you?”

He had no discernible accent. His skin was tanned. He wore jeans and a tee. The tee sported the logo from a Napa Valley vineyard. Surely he hadn’t come all the way from California to talk to her. If he had…

The curiosity she’d experienced earlier morphed into fear. Maybe this was a mistake. She suddenly wished Tanya had called 911 and wondered if she could surreptitiously dial it on her cell.

Something was very, very wrong.

Rather than respond to her question, he stood there, staring at her as if he’d suddenly lost his ability to speak. Frankly, he looked shell-shocked. Halle wasn’t sure whether she should call for medical assistance or the police.

“Are you okay?” she asked, then decided calming him was the best course of action. “Why don’t we begin again?” she suggested “Please, have a seat. I’m sure we can sort this out.”

Somehow he found his way into the chair in front of her desk without taking his eyes off her face.

Halle settled into her chair. “You know who I am. May I ask your name?”

“Liam.” He swallowed hard. “Liam Hart.”

Summoning a polite smile, she gave him a nod. “Mr. Hart, why don’t you tell me what happened? You mentioned someone mailed my article to you?”

His head moved up and down, slowly. “Yesterday. It was addressed to me at my office in…in California.”

“You came all the way from California to ask me about the article?” She tried not to allow the tension to slip into her voice again.

He looked away. “I’m not some stalker or crazy person.” His gaze met hers once more. “I came because…”

Rather than finish his sentence he reached into the pocket of his tee and withdrew something, tossed the items on her desk. Photographs. She grabbed them, her pulse racing toward some unseen finish line for reasons still unknown to her.

“I came because of the photos that accompanied your article.”

Halle stared at the two photos. Andy. “Where did you get these?” she practically whispered.

For a moment he only continued to stare at her.

Who was this man? How did he have these photos of Andy? Why were his eyes so blue?

The idea that he might be… No, no, it wasn’t possible.

Was it?

“Those photos came from a family album,” he finally said. “My family album.”

She left the photos on her desk and clasped her hands together to conceal their shaking. “Do you…” She moistened her lips, tried to swallow, but it wasn’t happening. “Do you know the boy in these photos?”

The question was foolish. The photos had been in his family’s album. Of course he knew who the boy was.

“Me.”

The single syllable quaked through her. Not possible. “I’m not sure I understand.” She held up one of the photos. “I know this boy. His name is Andrew—Andy Clark. He went missing twenty-five years ago.”

Mr. Hart shook his head. “Those photos are me. That house you see in the background is my home. In California.”

Halle stared at the photo with the house. It certainly wasn’t a house in her neighborhood. Definitely not Andy’s house.

“The dog in the other one,” he said, “that’s Sparky. The dog my father got me for my birthday.”

Halle’s head was spinning. This was incomprehensible. She struggled for rational thought, for what to do next. “Mr. Hart, I can’t explain why you look exactly like Andy.” She simultaneously shook her head and shrugged awkwardly. “I honestly don’t know what to say. I can see why you were shaken by the article and the photos. If the photos you brought with you are of you—” she tapped the newspaper “—and I know these are of Andy…” She looked him in the eyes. “Let me pursue this. With you. We could both work on it. In ways that law enforcement can’t.”

The reporter in her wouldn’t allow the opportunity to pass without trying to get to the truth.

LIAM STARED at the woman. He’d been doing that practically from the moment he laid eyes on her. She seemed so familiar to him. Like someone he’d gone to school with or met at a party. Somehow he knew this Halle Lane. From the wild mane of red hair to the freckles and those too familiar green eyes.

“I came here to ask you,” he said, his chest heavy with some emotion he couldn’t define, “about this Andy—the boy who went missing. I tried to google for information but what I found was vague at best. There was no explanation of what happened to him.”

“I can tell you anything you want to know,” she assured him. “Andy and I were neighbors and best friends. But, to my knowledge, no one knows what happened to him. The police, the FBI, even private investigators were never able to solve the case.”

Best friends. Neighbors. Liam drew in a big breath. “All right.” He glanced around her office. “My flight got into Nashville and I drove straight here. I don’t have a hotel yet, but maybe we should have dinner. Talk. I’ll find a place to stay later.”

He felt like a total idiot. Talk? Dinner? But then, he was here. He’d come a long way to get some answers. He might as well get those answers straight from the horse’s mouth, so to speak.

“There’s a couple of options for lodging,” she said. “As you say, we can worry about that later. I don’t know about you but I’m starving. My parents are expecting me for dinner. Why don’t you join us?”

He blinked, startled at the invitation. “Sure. If you think your parents won’t mind.”

She laughed. “I can guarantee you they won’t mind. And a dinner out might draw attention you don’t want or need.”

He grabbed his photos from her desk and tucked them back into his pocket. “I can follow you.”

“Actually—” she picked up her shoulder bag “—it would be better if we rode together. We’ll have to park on another street and sneak into my backyard. Reporters are camping out in front of my house.”

He wasn’t so sure that being without his own transportation was a good idea.

“Don’t worry,” she offered, “I’ll bring you back for your car.”

Too tired to argue and too curious to miss out on the opportunity, he said, “Fine.”

Fine might be an overstatement but he would ride it out.

The dreams that had haunted him last night wouldn’t fade. As a boy, he hadn’t been able to remember his name at the ER when he’d broken his arm. The doctor had assured his father that it was probably the concussion causing the confusion and it would likely clear up in a couple of days. And it had.

Maybe the newspaper article wouldn’t have gotten to him if it hadn’t been for that one disturbing memory in that hospital…and Claire’s insistence that there were no pictures of him.

He was here. He intended to find out what his true past was.

SHE PARKED ON a short, shady street that wasn’t so different from some of the streets back home. Liam surveyed the neat yards and the quaint old houses. He reached into the back seat and got his jacket. He’d almost left it in his rental. The temperature had dropped dramatically after sunset. Something else that reminded him of home.

“This way,” she said in a stage whisper.

He followed her between two houses and across the backyard of the one on the right. No exterior lights came on, no dogs barked. The moon and the glow from the windows provided just enough illumination for their trek across the property. A clothesline and a swing set were the only items they encountered.

“Mrs. Jolly is the neighbor who lives behind us,” Halle said in a low voice. “I warned her on Monday that I might have to use her backyard to avoid the reporters.”

Liam glanced at the back of the small house. He spotted an older woman peering from one of the windows. The light behind her highlighting her presence.

“Here we go.”

His guide stopped at a white picket fence and opened the gate. Once they were through, she closed it behind them.

“Home sweet home.”

She marched to the back porch and climbed the steps, chattering the whole time about how good her mother’s lasagna was and how excited she would be to have a guest for dinner.

The overhead light came on and the door opened as they crossed the porch. An older version of the woman he’d followed through the darkness stood in the doorway. Her red hair was shot through with gray and pulled back in a long braid.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

“I was held up at the office. Mom, this is Liam Hart. He’s joining us for dinner. Liam—” she glanced at him “—this is my mom, Judith.”

“I hope that’s okay, ma’am,” he said when the mother stared openmouthed at him.

“Yes, of course.” She blinked once, twice. “Come in.”

As they entered the house, Judith called out, “Howard! Halle’s home and she brought a guest.”

The kitchen smelled of garlic and fresh baked bread. Liam watched as the two women chatted excitedly—as if he was some celebrity or something. A tall, gray-haired man entered the room.

He hesitated, assessed Liam, then thrust out his right hand. “I’m Howard, the father.”

“Liam,” he said as he shook the man’s hand. “Liam Hart.”

“Let’s eat before it gets cold,” Judith announced.

They gathered around the table that stood on one end of the massive kitchen. The whole back of the house appeared to be a kitchen. It was nice. Homey. Looked well loved. That was one of the things he liked most about his family home. It was a real home. Used and loved and…his. His home. Whatever happened here twenty-five years ago had nothing to do with him. Whoever mailed that newspaper to him had made a mistake.

“So, Liam,” Howard said as the various dishes made the rounds of those seated at the table, “tell us about you.”

“I’m from Napa. My sister and I run the Hart Family Winery. It’s been in my family for more than two decades.”

“Oh, my,” Judith said. “Would you prefer wine rather than the sweet iced tea?”

“No, ma’am. The tea is fine.”

“Sweetheart,” Howard announced, “I do believe you’ve outdone yourself. The lasagna is splendid.”

Liam ignored his salad and took a bite of the lasagna. Halle’s father was right. It was exceptional. He smiled at Judith. “Really outstanding.”

She beamed at him. Something deep inside him shifted. He looked from Judith to Howard and then to Halle. These people shouldn’t feel so damned familiar to him.

This was all wrong.

THEN

Monday, October 31Twenty-five years, five months ago…

HALLE DIDN’T WANT to be a fairy. She wanted to be Robin. Andy was Batman and she wanted to be Robin. They were best friends after all. Just like Batman and Robin.

Their moms walked behind them, not allowing them to get too far ahead. Even though they knew everyone on this street and all the other streets around them, their moms always worried.

“I like your costume,” Andy said.

Halle smiled at him. “Like yours, too. I wanted to be Robin.”

They walked on, heading for the next house.

When they turned up the sidewalk, Andy leaned close and whispered, “You are Robin. You’re just in disguise. Sometimes superheroes do that.”

A big old grin spread across her face. “Yeah. I am Robin. In disguise.”

They rushed to the front door and rang the bell. It was her turn, so she was the one to press the lit button.

When the door opened they shouted, “Trick or treat!”

Mr. Olson made a surprised face. “My goodness, I had no idea Batman was in the neighborhood. Who’s your friend, Batman?” Mr. Olson winked at Halle.

“It’s my friend Robin—in disguise.”

“Well, this really is a special visit.” He held out the bowl. “Robin, you and Batman take all the treats you want.”

Giggling, they grabbed a handful of candy each and dropped it into their pumpkin-head pails.

“Thank you!” they recited simultaneously before dashing away.

“Be careful out there, Batman and Robin,” Mr. Olson called after them.

The mothers waited on the sidewalk by the street. Halle and Andy hurried past and headed for the next house.

“Thanks for letting me be Robin even in this fairy suit,” Halle said as they skipped up the sidewalk to the next house.

“You’ll always be my Robin,” Andy promised.

“Forever and ever,” Halle said on a laugh.

By the time their moms made them go home, they had a ton of candy each. They were never going to run out of candy.

When they reached their end of South High, they parted ways, waving and laughing. It was a good night.

Halle couldn’t wait to go to sleep. Tomorrow was a school day. She and Andy were going to trade sandwiches at lunch. On Tuesdays they always did. Halle loved his mom’s pastrami sandwiches and he loved her mom’s peanut butter and jelly ones.

Maybe she’d sneak some of her Halloween candy in her lunch box to share with Andy.

She couldn’t wait until morning.

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