“I need you to kiss me, Nicholas.”

Camille’s whispered plea was his undoing. He couldn’t have said no, couldn’t have resisted if his life had depended on it.

He leaned in, let his lips brush hers. She shivered. Just a soft, chaste meeting of the lips. The sensation sent desire rushing - through him.

She touched his face. Not the smooth, undamaged side, but the ugly, ravaged side. He started to draw away, but her other hand curled around his neck and held him still. Gentle fingers traced the hideous scars. He wanted to bolt, to hide his ugliness from her beauty.

“I don’t see this when I look at you,” she murmured. “I only see you. The man I once loved so much.”

He wanted to respond, but couldn’t let this distract him. Not only did Camille and her child’s well-being depend on him, but the future of Raven’s Cliff hung in the balance as well. He needed to remember that.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Debra Webb was born in Scottsboro, Alabama, to parents who taught her that anything is possible if you want it badly enough. She began writing at the age of nine. Eventually, she met and married the man of her dreams, and tried some other occupations, including selling vacuum cleaners, working in a factory, a day-care centre, a hospital and a department store. When her husband joined the military, they moved to Berlin, Germany, and Debra became a secretary in the commanding general’s office. By 1985 they were back in the States, and finally moved to Tennessee, to a small town where everyone knows everybody else. With the support of her husband and two beautiful daughters, Debra took up writing again, looking to mystery and movies for inspiration. In 1998, her dream of writing came true. You can write to Debra with your comments at PO Box 64, Huntland, Tennessee 37345, USA or visit her website at http://www.debrawebb.com to find out exciting news about her next book.

Motive: Secret Baby

DEBRA WEBB

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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This book is dedicated to the folks who live in

small towns. I’m certain when Dorothy said

those famous words, “There’s no place like

home,” she was talking about the small towns

and the folks who live there. Where life is

simple and everyone knows everyone

else and everyone cares.

Prologue

The waves crashed ferociously against the rocky shore, sending a salty mist spraying over his bare back. The cool, damp sand beneath his arms felt familiar and comforting. But it was the woman in his arms that filled his heart and soul with longing, and at the same time with torment. Nicholas Sterling III stared into the eyes of the woman he held so tightly.

The woman with whom he had made slow, passionate love for the last time.

How could he never hold her this way again? How could he pretend what they shared meant nothing and go on with his life?

Agony squeezed his heart. Yet he must. He had an obligation. His family had arranged his marriage, his whole life. Starting tomorrow. There was no way to stop the momentum. He was to marry the chosen bride and settle into his arranged future or lose everything. His family…his inheritance. To defy his family’s wishes would be to exile himself from Raven’s Cliff and all that he knew.

Did he not possess the courage to start over somewhere else on his own? With nothing?

Nicholas pushed away the thought. Perhaps he was a coward. It was far too late to delve into a self-analysis. Tomorrow he would do as his family demanded.

But tonight was his. His and Camille’s.

One last night to hold her. Nicholas dipped his head and tasted her sweet lips once more. Camille whimpered softly. She loved him. He knew she did.

And he loved her…desperately.

Unfortunately love was not enough.

He stilled. The bitterness of regret tainted his soul despite his determination to put all but this moment aside. The truth was, what he was doing now was unfair to Camille. Unfair to the woman he was to marry and to his family.

Those damned obligations.

This was a hell of a time for his conscience to decide it worked after all. Not once had he ever let anyone else’s expectations block his path, so why tonight?

What made this night different from all the others that had come before it?

Just because in less than twenty-four hours he was scheduled to wed a woman his family had hand-picked for him…just because…

Doom crashed down around him as if lightning had struck with unerring force. An overwhelming of loss pressed against his chest.

Tonight…was the night.

“Dear God…” He’d forgotten to go to the lighthouse.

“What’s wrong?” Camille wiggled out of his arms and scooted up to a sitting position. “Nicholas?”

His gaze met hers and in a single instant he saw his true destiny reflected there. Death.

“I have to go.” Nicholas scrambled to his feet, jerked on his jeans. “I’m sorry. I—”

“Please tell me what’s wrong.” Draping her abandoned dress over her bare breasts, she stared up at him, her eyes wide with worry and sadness…with her own regret. This was their last time together.

For a moment he couldn’t move. He wanted so badly to take her into his arms again…to promise her whatever necessary to banish the sadness in those blue eyes.

How had he allowed his life to come to this place where nothing was as it should be?

A deafening whoosh blasted the night air, shattering the thick, tense silence. Nicholas lifted his face to the night, scanned the craggy cliff above their secluded, sandy haven.

Flames danced, illuminating the dark velvet sky.

“The lighthouse…” Apprehension tightened its noose on his neck.

He had to hurry. Before it was too late.

Nicholas ran, skirted the rocky shore his feet knew by heart until he reached the narrow path that ascended the jagged cliff side.

His grandfather had warned him not to forget.

But Nicholas had shirked that obligation as he had most put before him.

Now he was too late.

Way too late.

The designated time had come and gone.

Dread constricted his lungs, making it difficult to breathe.

What had he done?

As he reached the summit, found his balance on the ledge that overlooked the restless ocean below, his worst fears were realized.

The lighthouse was on fire…the upper portion— the watch room where the lantern waited…unlit— glowed with the destructive fingers of fire.

A new kind of panic seized his heart.

“Grandfather!”

Though Nicholas had ignored his duty, his grandfather never would. Nicholas charged toward the lighthouse, flung open the door and mounted the steep, winding stairs two at a time.

“Grandfather!”

When he bounded up the final step his heart lurched. The watch room was almost completely engulfed. A kerosene can was overturned near the lantern. His grandfather lay on the floor beside it. Nicholas rushed to the motionless old man and dropped to his knees.

“Grandfather, it’s okay. I’m here now.” He lifted the old man into his arms.

Unseeing eyes peered up at him. Anguish tore at Nicholas’s soul.

“No!” The scream echoed around him. The flames crept closer. Nicholas didn’t care. His grandfather was dead and it was his fault.

“No. No. No.” Desperate, Nicholas attempted CPR. “Breathe,” he demanded between the puffs of air he forced into the unresponsive lungs.

Splitting glass screeched above the roar of the devouring blaze.

Nicholas glanced up at the lantern. The glass had shattered. He surveyed the wall of glass surrounding the watch room, then the floor where jagged shards had been spewed across it. The heat from the flames, he realized. The fire had swept a full circle around him.

He peered down at his grandfather. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m so sorry.”

Ice abruptly rushed through Nicholas’s veins. His gaze was drawn back to the lantern as if a voice had whispered from it. The precious gemstones suddenly glistened, reflecting the light of the savage flames. Words gleamed across the metal of the lantern’s casement—words he had never noticed before.

Fire and ice…life and death…look into your heart.

Confusion and misery made Nicholas’s head spin.

He had killed his grandfather…destroyed the lighthouse…he was responsible…all of this was his fault.

Now is not the time to give up…there is still hope.

A force Nicholas could not name drew him to his feet…drew him to the lantern.

I pray the hollows my soul to keep.

Nicholas could almost hear his grandfather’s voice reciting the silly childhood prayer….

His grandfather lay still, unmoving on the floor.

This didn’t make sense. Nicholas was delusional. Did one lose his mind in those final moments before death claimed him?

Now I lay me down to sleep.

“Stop!” Nicholas put his hands over his ears. This couldn’t be real.

I pray the hollows my soul to keep.

A frantic cry from far below snapped Nicholas from the baffling trance he’d slipped into. He coughed. Smoke had invaded deep into his lungs.

Another desperate cry.

Camille.

She shouted his name from the ground below.

If she tried to come up the stairs after him…too dangerous.

He would not be responsible for her death as well.

Summoning the courage that had deserted him in his misery, he shouted, “Get help!” Nicholas rushed back to where his grandfather lay and hefted him into his arms. He tried to dart through the flames to reach the stairs, but it was impossible. The entire upper portion of the staircase was swallowed up by the devouring blaze.

Defeat sucked at Nicholas’s trembling limbs. There was no escape.

He was going to die.

Nicholas peered down at his beloved grandfather.

This was Nicholas’s fault. He deserved to die.

And Raven’s Cliff will die with you.

He jerked with a start at the words.

Where had that voice come from?

He turned all the way around. The fire had trapped him. Yet, there was no one else, except his grandfather, who could have spoken to him.

Nicholas shook his head. He was hearing things again. His jaw hardened as sweat ran down his bare skin. You deserve to die, he reminded himself and the voice.

Yes, he deserved no better than this.

Cradling his grandfather, Nicholas dropped to his knees to await his fate.

He heard the voice again. The riddle is the key to salvation…to reversing the curse.

Nicholas closed his eyes and shook his head. The heat…had to be the heat. He was going to die. He was imagining the voice. He didn’t believe in the curse. He didn’t believe in anything.

If you die…Raven’s Cliff will die, too.

What the hell? Nicholas forced his eyes open and demanded, “Who are you?”

Salvation lies inside you…find it and you will stop the curse and save Raven’s Cliff.

The curse. Fury roared through Nicholas like a clawing beast. His entire life had been focused on his own selfish desires. He’d put what he considered foolish tales about the curse aside. Had laughed at his grandfather’s insistence that it was real.

Now it was too late. The curse he had scoffed at was happening. Would be his legacy. Every single detail his grandfather had repeated to him time and again filtered through his churning thoughts.

Raven’s Cliff would die just as his grandfather had…because of him.

Salvation lies inside you.… The words echoed inside Nicholas’s head.

His attention rested on his grandfather once more. For his entire life Nicholas had been taught that Raven’s Cliff’s future lay with him. For the first time he understood with complete certainty that his grandfather’s warnings were true.

But it was too late.…

No. Determination detonated inside him. He had to do something. To repair the damage he had done.

He surveyed the fate closing in on him.

But there was no escape.

Still, he had to try.

Eyes clenched, Nicholas kissed his grandfather’s forehead before gently lowering him to the floor once more.

“I won’t let you down again,” he murmured to the man who had been his only real father.

Nicholas pushed unsteadily to his feet, slowly turned all the way around. The fire stood like a wall between him and any means of escape.

All hope will die with you, the voice urged. Act! Act now!

He had to do something.

Now.

But how?

Realization settled over him.

There was only one way to escape this fate.

Mentally picturing the churning waters below, Nicholas angled his body and dashed forward into the flames. He cried out as the heat charred his flesh. With an adrenaline charge providing the necessary strength, he propelled himself beyond what remained of the shattered glass wall.

Rain pelted his burning skin.

Nicholas felt himself plummeting against the buffeting wind of the coming storm.

Camille’s frantic cry echoed in his ears.

And then the hungry sea swallowed him.

Chapter One

Five years later…

A beast.

Nicholas Sterling III stared at his reflection in the window a moment longer before yanking the rotting drapes closed.

There wasn’t a single viable mirror in the cottage. He’d rendered each useless with black spray paint.

Useless…like his life.

The occasional glimpse he caught of himself in a window reminded him of what he was.

Of what the villagers saw when they looked at him.

Of what she would see….

That was why he hadn’t attempted to see Camille again since she’d regained consciousness in the hospital. As long as she’d remained in a coma he’d sat by her bed for hours each night after her family had gone home. Chief Swanson had ordered his deputies to leave Nicholas be when he appeared late at night to sit with her. Twenty-four-hour security outside Camille’s hospital room had been necessary despite the fact that Raven’s Cliff’s troubles appeared to be over.

All but one.

Nicholas had not been able to take control of his family’s estate as of yet. Beacon Manor sat empty now that the Monroe family had realized the property could not be legally sold to them. But to assume control of what was rightfully his, Nicholas would be forced to reveal his identity. So far only a select few knew who he was. Chief Swanson and one of his detectives, Andrei Lagios, and Camille. She had been in a coma until recently and represented no threat to Nicholas. The others aware of his true identity had agreed that Raven’s Cliff needed time to recover before facing another shock. And the revelation that Nicholas Sterling III not only lived but was back in town would not be welcome news, particularly on the heels of such devastation. First the poisoned fish, then a thwarted terrorist attack, not to mention a serial killer. The village was weary of tragedy.

The citizens of Raven’s Cliff had thought Nicholas dead since that night five years ago when he’d initiated this horrific chain of events. He closed his eyes and steadied himself. All that had happened— the deaths, the damage to the village and the residents’ livelihoods—had been his fault and his alone.

Nicholas had failed to carry out his one responsibility, and that careless mistake had caused so much misery.

Swanson continued to urge Nicholas to keep a low profile a bit longer. Raven’s Cliff had a new mayor who was settling his constituents into a path toward recovery and a brighter future. Though it angered him on some level, Nicholas understood the chief’s request. Causing more pain was not his intent.

Theodore Fisher, a lifetime resident and a man whose insanity had led him to poison the villagers with his concocted fish nutrient, had been stopped. As had the Seaside Strangler, Alexander Gibson, but not before he murdered four innocent victims. Rebecca Johnson had been his first victim. Nicholas shuddered as the tortured memories throttled him. That, too, was his fault. Had he been with Rebecca, the woman his family had chosen to be his wife, that night rather than selfishly indulging his own desires, she would not have been kidnapped and murdered.

Five years. A lifetime.

Even worse, Alexander Gibson had been Nicholas’s identical twin. Ensuring the Sterling name was again synonymous with the devastation of Raven’s Cliff. Nicholas and Alexander had been separated as small boys. Nicholas vaguely remembered playing with a boy who looked exactly like him, but as he’d grown up he had assumed that the identical playmate had been nothing more than his vivid imagination. But he’d been wrong. Alexander had tried to drown Nicholas in the bathtub at the tender age of four. Nicholas’s parents had sent him away. But Alexander had eventually learned the truth and returned to carry out his sick vengeance on the village and the people who had banished and abandoned him.

The Sterling family, particularly Nicholas, was undeniably responsible for the horrors that had plagued Raven’s Cliff for so many years.

It was time to make full restitution.

Every additional day Nicholas was forced to wait tortured him. He plowed his hands through his hair and paced the floor. Five endless years.

He had to finish setting the past to right.

For those five years the world he had once known had thought him dead, a victim of the fire that had stolen his beloved grandfather’s life. In truth, Nicholas had barely survived that night. He’d thrown himself from the blazing watch room of the lighthouse and crashed into the ocean far below. When he’d awakened on the rocks miles away he had suffered death a thousand times over. At first from the burns that had disfigured the left side of his face and torso, then later from the knowledge of what he had done.

He had devastated so many lives.

Death would have been so much easier. Yet, he had realized that he, ironically, was Raven’s Cliff’s only hope.

Salvation lies inside you…

It was Nicholas’s responsibility to restore the lighthouse and its lantern and to end once and for all the curse that had haunted Raven’s Cliff for five years.

As a younger man he had scoffed at his grandfather’s tales about the curse related to the lighthouse. Nicholas had refused to believe in such a ridiculous concept.

But he had been wrong.

That night, as he’d held his dead grandfather in his arms amid those lethal flames, a voice had warned him that if he died, Raven’s Cliff would die as well.

Salvation lies inside you…

Bracing his hands on the mantel, Nicholas stared into the flames of the small fireplace that warmed his run-down cottage as he recalled that night in detail. A line from the prayer his grandfather had recited to him every single night of his childhood had echoed through him before he’d taken that suicidal plunge into the ocean.

I pray the hollows my soul to keep.

As a child Nicholas had often giggled at his grandfather’s parody of the well-known prayer.

Now I lay me down to sleep.

I pray the hollows my soul to keep.

If I should die before I wake…

He couldn’t remember the final line, but every instinct told Nicholas that there was more to the old bedtime rhyme than he’d initially thought. Since his return to Raven’s Cliff his instincts had prodded him to look to the past for answers to the present’s troubles.

Despite the relief the villagers felt at having overcome the trials involving terrorists and a couple of lunatics with visions of grandeur, there would be more suffering to come. The troubles would not stop until Nicholas had done his part.

He must restore the lighthouse and the precious lantern it housed. It was the only way to lift the curse and ensure a safe and prosperous future for the village.

Not an easy task when he could not reclaim his home.

A pounding at the front door jerked him from the disturbing thoughts.

Tension rippled within his muscles. Who would dare to show up at his door at this time of night? No one came near the dilapidated cottage even in the light of day.

The few residents who had gotten a glimpse of him called him the beast. No one wanted to cross his path, much less pay a visit to his home.

Had Chief Swanson come with news of her?

A shiver of uncertainty trembled in Nicholas’s limbs. She was far better off without him. Just as he had done to all those who had ever cared about him, he had damaged her life more than enough as it was. And still, great diligence was required to keep his thoughts away from her.

Camille Wells.

The woman he had once loved with all his heart. At least with all the heart he had possessed. The fact that she knew he was still alive had been an accident.

Just another grave mistake in a life filled with far too many repeat blunders. One stormy night almost one year ago Nicholas had come upon her below the cliffs…in that same place where they had last made love. He’d tried to hide but she’d seen him in the shadows. Once the initial shock had passed, they had argued fiercely. The heated fury had evolved into another kind of fire. They’d ended up making love right there in the sand as they had more than four years prior.

His traitorous body relished those forbidden memories.

Another round of frantic pounding echoed through his ramshackle home.

His brow furrowed with annoyance and no small amount of uncertainty. It was too late for Martha, his housekeeper, to have returned for any reason. Nicholas glanced at the clock. Half past eleven. She would be in bed by now.

It had to be Swanson.

And if it was, the news couldn’t be good.

Had more evil struck?

Fear knotted in Nicholas’s gut. Surely Camille’s condition had not taken a turn for the worse. Two weeks ago she had regained consciousness and he had not returned to the hospital.

The night they had made love he had urged her to consider him dead as she had for more than four years. Her life would only be devastated further with him in it. She had let him know in no uncertain terms that she would be happy to do so. She wanted nothing to do with him.

Perhaps it had been the glimpse she’d gotten of him in the moonlight after they’d made love so savagely in the sand.

He’d seen the look of horror on her beautiful face. She’d tried to hide it, but failed. Not that he could blame her.

He was a beast.

And for a while he had hoped she intended to move on with her life. Then she’d disappeared… and he’d blamed himself. One stolen moment with him had brought misfortune to her once more.

More banging on the door.

His visitor was not going away. He turned to the door. “Go away!” he commanded. If it was anyone but the chief, that should be sufficient cause to send them running.

“Nicholas!”

The fear that had twisted his gut now morphed into outright terror.

It was her.

Camille.

Before he could stop the automatic reaction he was at the door, preparing to open it.

When had she been released from the hospital?

What was she doing here?

Though the immediate dangers to Raven’s Cliff and all who resided there had passed, evil still lurked close by. Nicholas could feel it deep in his bones.

The curse.

Nothing would stop it…except the full restoration of the lighthouse and its precious lantern.

And only he could make that happen.

“Nicholas, I will not go away!” Camille’s voice reverberated through the closed door. “Let me in! Please.”

The last word trembled from her.

Something was wrong.

Unable to ignore her urgent plea, he slid back the dead bolt and opened the door.

His heart stumbled at the sight of her. He’d forgotten it was raining outside. A violent storm had come and gone, leaving in its wake a persistent and cleansing rain. Camille stood on his stoop, her clothes soaked and clinging to her shivering body. For one moment his gaze was lost to her beauty. The wet clothing formed to her skin, accenting the curves his hands, even now, longed to caress. Fool.

“I need your help,” she pleaded.

His eyes met hers, and the fear there launched a new terror inside him.

“Come inside.” He stood back, opened the door wider.

She stepped over the threshold, her arms hugged tightly around herself.

That treacherous uncertainty plagued him even as he knew what he should do. “I’ll get you a blanket.”

She started to argue but he turned his back and walked away. In the hall, he rummaged in the linen closet for a towel and a blanket. His housekeeper’s work was reliable. Despite the cottage’s run-down condition she worked diligently to maintain a certain level of cleanliness and orderliness.

Nicholas was grateful she did so without question. She appeared not to care who he was or what he did, only that he paid her a good wage for a good day’s work. For nearly five years that had been enough.

Bracing himself, he returned to where Camille waited. She looked pale and tired. Not well at all. Damp curls snuggled her soft cheeks, underscoring the dark circles beneath her eyes. His pulse reacted with worry and other emotions he fiercely wanted to deny.

“When were you released from the hospital?” He handed her the towel first.

She scrubbed at her face, then smoothed the terry cloth over her hair. “Two days ago.”

The frown etched more deeply into his brow. “You’re feeling better now?” She had teetered on the edge of death for days. He couldn’t believe she’d awakened and walked out of the hospital as if death hadn’t very nearly claimed her. “They determined what made you so ill?”

She clutched the towel at her breast and focused a glower on him. The vulnerability vanished, replaced by what looked like anger. “Don’t pretend to care about my well-being.”

He flinched at the accusation. “Of course I care about your well-being.” He took the towel from her, tossed it aside, then carefully draped the blanket around her shoulders.

She stiffened at the slightest brush of his fingers. The reaction was like a kick to his midsection. But then, what did he expect? Any tender feelings she’d had for his memory had vanished in the wake of the impact of his return…of his betrayal. He had allowed her to believe him dead.

“I need your help.”

Part of him wanted to assure her that whatever she needed he would gladly provide. He’d been supporting Raven’s Cliff’s recovery efforts since he returned. Anonymously, of course. It was the least he could do. But helping Camille would be another tragic mistake. She wouldn’t need money; her family was quite wealthy despite her father’s, the former mayor’s, recent fall from grace. Whatever help Camille thought she needed from him, she was wrong. He would only bring more pain to her life.

“You should go.” He cleared his expression of any emotion. It would be in her best interests if he acted like the beast he appeared to be. “Coming here was a mistake.”

She blinked, stood mute for a long moment as if she didn’t know how to respond to his refusal.

“Your presence could give away my identity. The villagers are already overly curious and suspicious about me,” he offered. He shouldn’t have bothered with an explanation, but that foolish part of him that still loved her so dearly wouldn’t allow the slight.

“I should have known,” she snapped, something far too much like disgust in her tone and her eyes. “Of course you wouldn’t want me to risk revealing the truth. You might be inconvenienced with having to explain yourself.”

He clamped his jaw shut against the denial. Let her believe what she would as long as it sent her on her way.

“If my being here causes you trouble, that’s too bad,” she said, standing her ground. “You have to help me.” She pulled the blanket more tightly around her but even that couldn’t disguise the way her body trembled. “No one else will believe me.”

“Stop.” He couldn’t deal with this. Being in the same room alone with her was difficult enough. She deserved better than him. Far better. He couldn’t allow her to drag him into whatever was going on in her life. He couldn’t risk hurting her again.

More important, his entire focus had to be on gaining access to the lighthouse, on stopping whatever plague the curse would send next. He wasn’t about to try to explain that to her. Even he didn’t fully understand. But he knew. He knew what he must do.

“Camille.” He swallowed, the taste of her name on his lips taking his breath. Forced away the need to touch her…to do anything she asked of him. “You cannot come here again. No one can know who I am. If someone sees you here, suspicions will be aroused and trouble will follow.” He reached for the door. “Go home. Your family can help you with whatever problem you’re encountering.”

“No.” She shook her head adamantly. “You’re the only one who can help me.”

Nicholas closed his eyes and struggled to maintain his composure. He could not be tempted. He could not permit himself to be drawn into her life again.

“Go home, Camille. I can’t help you.” He opened his eyes and leveled an icy glare on her. Whatever it took to push her away. “Go. Now.”

“Someone took my baby.”

Her words shook him. Shocked him. “Baby?” Camille had a child? Then he remembered, she’d gone missing on her wedding day. The day she was supposed to have married Grant Bridges. Misery ached inside him.

She nodded jerkily. “While I was…missing.” Her head moved side to side with the weight of uncertainty. “I don’t remember anything. The man…” She shrugged, clearly unsure of her words. “The man who held me kept me drugged or something. I don’t remember anything after falling from the cliff. All I know is that I was pregnant and now I’m not. The doctor said I’d given birth only a few weeks before I was found.” She drew in a jagged breath. “My baby’s missing and Chief Swanson thinks I…”

Tears welled in those big blue eyes. “Chief Swanson thinks what?” Nicholas heard himself ask, no matter that he knew with every fiber of his being that he should usher her out the door. He should not allow himself to be distracted…not even for Camille.

He’d made that mistake once. And it had cost them both far too much already.

“He thinks I did something—” she moistened her quivering lips “—with my baby. He won’t help me because he thinks I did something unspeakable.”

“Swanson is a reasonable man.” Nicholas steeled his emotions. He could not help her. “You should talk to him again. Insist that he at least consider all avenues, including the possibility that whoever held you took your child.”

The vulnerability disappeared once more. “He won’t help me,” she argued. “He and his men are investigating me. They’re not looking for my baby.” The anguish tormenting her trickled beyond the determination she attempted to exhibit. “I’ll have to do this without the help of the authorities.” Another big breath. “And I can’t do it alone.”

Enough. He had allowed this to go too far already. If he didn’t send her away now he would end up agreeing to her request, and that would be a mistake for her and for him. Trouble would soon descend upon Raven’s Cliff once more if he didn’t complete his quest.

“I’m afraid I can’t help you.” He moved to the door. “Go home, Camille. You have the means to find the help you need. Hire a private investigator.” He met her worried gaze once more. “You don’t need me.”

“No.” She lifted her chin in defiance. “I need your help. There is no one else I can depend on.”

Anger flared, burning away the tender emotions he had foolishly experienced. If she needed someone, she should turn to Grant Bridges. After all, she had been ready to marry him before she’d disappeared. He was assuredly the child’s father. Why didn’t she go to him now?

“Go to Bridges.” The words ground from between clenched teeth. Nicholas hated that jealously was reflected in each word, but some part of him was obviously still human. Grant Bridges had once been his best friend. As much as Nicholas wanted to hate him for almost marrying Camille, he had no right. Camille deserved a good man, and Bridges was a good man.

“I can’t.”

Patience thinning, Nicholas gestured to the door once more. “I’m certain he will be glad to help you in any way you need. He was supposed to be your husband as I recall. He faithfully visited you in the hospital.” Nicholas stared out the open door and into the dark night as he said the rest. “Bridges would never shirk his responsibilities. Go to him.”

“You don’t understand. I can’t go to him.” She still made no move toward the door. “You’re the only person who can help me.”

A muscle in his jaw jerking with tension, Nicholas moved in close to her, a blatant act of intimidation. The sweet scent of her filled his nostrils, almost defeated his determination. “It’s only right that the father of the child have a hand in the search. Go to Bridges, Camille. He’s the one you should be talking to right now.”

“But he’s not the father.”

Nicholas’s tense jaw fell slack. Confusion obliterated any possibility of rational thought. “I don’t understand.”

“You have to help me, Nicholas.” She searched his eyes, her own filled with fear and a tangle of other pained emotions. “You’re the only one who can. If you won’t do it for me, do it for the baby.”

He shook his head. “You’re not making sense.”

“The baby isn’t Grant’s.” She stared straight into Nicholas’s eyes, took a deep breath. “It’s yours. You’re the father.”

Chapter Two

Camille Wells shivered uncontrollably as she waited for Nicholas’s answer. She didn’t care that she had just blurted out the fact that he was a father. Or that he looked completely stunned.

Right now, she didn’t care about anything but finding her baby.

He didn’t look directly at her, kept his face turned slightly to the left in an effort to shield that damaged side from view. “You should sit down.” The words were scarcely a whisper, wholly uncharacteristic for the gruff man he had become.

The beast. That was what the villagers called the scarred recluse who had purchased the cottage on the outskirts of town. And like the new owner, the cottage was damaged very nearly beyond repair.

With all that she knew, how could she still feel anything for him?

“I don’t need to sit down,” she argued. “I need to find our baby.” Evidently the reality of what she had told him hadn’t gotten through the first time. She had to make him understand.

He shook his head. “That’s impossible.”

Exactly the response she had expected. “We had sex, Nicholas.” She drew in a deep breath, summoned her patience. Time was wasting. They needed a plan. They needed to start looking. Now! “That’s how babies are made, or have you forgotten?” She trembled inside at the memory. What was wrong with her? Her baby was missing!

Another shake of his dark head. “But that was—”

“Nine months, four weeks, two days ago.” Just after dark…at the same place they’d last made love. Only this time she had been the one on the verge of getting married. The irony of the situation was almost laughable. But the pain in her chest, the ache in her very soul left no room for amusement. Her baby was missing. A baby she couldn’t remember giving birth to.

A baby whose first kick she couldn’t recall. A baby she had carried for nine months and she had absolutely no recollection of that time save for the first four weeks. Those precious days between making love with Nicholas and walking arm in arm with her father toward her fiancé, Grant Bridges.

How could she look back on any part of that time as precious when she had cheated on the man she was to marry? They had agreed to abstain from sex the final month before their marriage to make their wedding night even more special. And what had she done?

Grant. God, he had been so good to her. He had been perfectly willing to marry her and raise the child as his own. Marrying him without telling him the truth had been out of the question. Camille had told him everything. And he’d forgiven her. Even more incredible he’d still wanted to marry her. Camille had recognized the second chance and pulled herself back together. She would be Mrs. Grant Bridges. Her child would be raised by two parents and no one would ever know the truth.

Then, in one unexpected gust of gale force wind, everything had changed.

She had lost months of her life…her baby…the future she had planned.

Everything.

“But you were going to marry Bridges,” Nicholas argued as if that was a logical reason the child couldn’t be his. “Did you know…?”

She nodded, shuddered at the chill that had bored deep into her bones. “I found out a few days before the wedding.”

Suspicion reared its ugly head in his startlingly blue eyes. “But you were going to marry Bridges anyway.”

Not a question. An accusation. She squared her shoulders. “Yes. I told him about the baby. He was willing to marry me anyway.” She glared into those piercing eyes. “In fact, he insisted that it was the only right thing to do.”

Her words hit the mark. She saw the sting in Nicholas’s eyes. Good. He deserved it.

“When I wouldn’t have,” he suggested, fierce indifference pumped into his tone.

“Have you ever?” She hugged the blanket closer against the quivering she couldn’t quite conquer. “Think about it, Nicholas—you never were exactly reliable. You didn’t have the courage to stand up to your parents when it came to us. And then, when your grandfather died in the lighthouse fire, you deserted all of us.”

Fury tightened his jaw, sent a muscle there jumping rhythmically. “I had my reasons.”

That was the part that frosted her the most. “Oh, yes.” She angled her head and glowered at him. “It was for my own good. For the good of all of Raven’s Cliff. How could I forget?” Yet another logical excuse spawned by selfish, illogical reasoning.

“You don’t understand,” he snarled, that beastly side showing in his voice and in his eyes as he stared straight at her.

Camille didn’t flinch. It wasn’t easy. The left side of his face was disfigured from the lighthouse fire. The damage extended down his throat, along his left arm and the upper portion of that side of his torso. Camille had felt the raised, calloused skin that night they’d made love. But it hadn’t been until the clouds had cleared from the moon that she’d gotten a good look at his face. The sight had stunned her, sent anguish searing through her. Her reaction had hurt him. She’d tried to explain, to apologize, but he refused to listen. He’d pushed her away, deserted her, as surely as he had four years prior.

He hadn’t given her a chance to tell him that what she really saw was the lines and angles of the handsome face he’d always had. The broad shoulders and powerful arms. The lean waist and the masculine contours of his chest.

As sorry as she was for all that he had lost, for the suffering he had endured from the burns, she would not feel sympathy for him. That soft feeling had vanished the night he made love to her and then walked away.

For a second time.

“I understand perfectly.” She reeled in her emotions. They were still wasting time. What happened between them made no difference. All that mattered was finding her child. “And frankly, I don’t care. I need to find my baby. Nothing else matters.”

He turned his profile to her once more, concealing the left side from view. The rigid set of his shoulders and the fists his fingers had balled into told her he was considering how to handle this situation.

No matter that she had never once been able to depend on Nicholas, no matter that until his sudden so-called death he had been viewed by all of Raven’s Cliff as a self-centered rich boy, Camille knew she could depend on him to help her.

Nicholas had learned something about responsibility in the past five years. At first she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it, but during the better part of the past two weeks as she had lain in that hospital room under guard, she had come to terms with many things.

She had suspected that the recluse living in the cottage was responsible for a number of anonymous gifts to the village. Everyone had talked about how some philanthropic soul had heard of Raven’s Cliff’s tribulations and had decided to help. But Camille had recognized a pattern. As the then mayor’s daughter, she spent a lot of her time doing charitable work with her mother. On the few occasions when she had heard of the recluse’s presence in town, she had begun to mentally chart what she heard about his visits along with the unexpected donations that oddly coincided with those rare appearances. Like how badly Miss Louise Patterson had needed a new playground for her day-care center. There were numerous other instances she could think of, but now wasn’t the time to bring up her suspicions.

Still, those instances were solid evidence, in her opinion, that Nicholas had changed. He needed to assuage his guilt with good deeds. If playing upon that guilt was wrong, so be it.

She had to find her baby.

Anguish tore through her. “Are you going to help me?” She didn’t add the “or not” that filtered through her head. He couldn’t refuse her. She wouldn’t let him. He could help her. She was certain. A man who had been to such dark places could no doubt reason out the thinking of someone evil enough to steal a newborn baby.

As if she’d said the last aloud, Nicholas’s gaze drifted to the rough plank floors. Her heart thumped harder in her chest. Please, please say yes.

“What do you want me to do?”

Though he didn’t look at her, his voice told her he had resigned himself to the obligation. Part of her wanted to be angry that it had taken such prodding to secure his help, but the reality was she didn’t care. As long as he helped her it didn’t matter why.

Another harsh reality shook her with an impact that would surely register on the Richter scale. Where did they start?

“I…” She swallowed at the lump of emotion lodged in her throat. “I don’t know.”

Blue eyes tangled with her own of a paler shade. Her mind immediately considered the idea that their baby would likely have blue eyes as well.

She shook her head. Absolute focus was essential. “I was found abandoned and alone.” And half dead, she didn’t bother adding. “No one discovered the fact that I’d recently given birth until right before I regained consciousness.” The truth was the hospital staff had been so focused on keeping her alive that nothing else had mattered at first. Eventually when all other possibilities had been exhausted in an attempt to trace down the source of the near-lethal staph infection, the indications that she had recently given birth were discovered.

“Have they uncovered the cause of your amnesia?” At her questioning expression, he went on. “Raven’s Cliff is a small village. I heard through my housekeeper that when you awoke you remembered nothing since falling from the cliffs.”

Funny, nothing went without discussion in this small village and yet her child was missing. Someone had held her for months, delivered her baby, and then disappeared without anyone noticing. Evidently right here in Raven’s Cliff.

Her legs wouldn’t hold her anymore. She shuffled to the nearest chair and collapsed there. “The experts believe the amnesia is drug related. At first it was assumed that I’d suffered head trauma from the fall, but there was no indication of major or permanent damage.” She closed her eyes a moment before she continued. “The theory is that I was drugged for the duration. Then, before the drugs wore off, the staph infection worsened. Between that, dehydration and God only knows what else, I slipped into a coma. My last memories are of my wedding day.” She took a bolstering breath. “Then of waking up in the hospital.”

The psychologist working on her case theorized that perhaps the missing time was too painful to remember. Since she was physically recovered with no apparent reason for the lapse in memory, the cause had to be psychosomatic. She couldn’t rule out that theory, and quite frankly she didn’t care why she couldn’t remember. She only wanted to find her child.

Nicholas remained silent for an endless minute as he obviously considered all that she had told him and whatever he had heard since she was found.

“We have no way of knowing where you were held,” he began, his tone somber.

Her chest tightened as she nodded her agreement.

“We have no idea who held you or why.”

Another nod of concurrence wasn’t necessary, and that was just as well. If she moved she might very well throw up. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d eaten, but the nagging desire to empty her stomach persisted, gained force with each passing second.

“And—” his gaze leveled fully on hers “—we don’t know if the baby survived beyond birth.”

Ice slid along every nerve ending, hardened in her blood. “There’s no reason to think otherwise,” she argued.

Was that pity in his eyes? Or regret?

“You said yourself that the experts believe you were drugged for all those months…”

He didn’t have to say more.

He was right.

Maybe someone at the hospital had even mentioned that possibility to her but she had wiped it out. Denied the potential.

No. She refused to consider it now. “Lots of babies survive prolonged drug use by their mothers.” Mothers hooked on illegal drugs delivered living babies all the time. There were problems, but at least the child was alive.

“My baby is alive.” She dredged up her courage and exiled the fear and uncertainty.

With one downward sweep of his dark lashes, the regret or pity she’d noted vanished and was replaced by the fierce indifference of the beast. “How do you know? The odds are not in your favor. Give me one valid reason we should even bother with a search and I’ll do all within my power to find your child.”

Your child, not our child. Fine, if that was the way he wanted to play it.

“I only have one,” Camille said, pushing to her feet so that she could look him squarely in the eyes. She swayed but steadied herself in time to prevent his reaching out to her. “I can feel it. Right here.” She released the blanket, allowing it to puddle around her feet, and pressed both hands over her heart. “My baby is alive. He’s out there waiting for me to bring him home.”

The undamaged corner of his mouth twitched. “And you know the child is a boy.”

Camille nodded. “Yes.” She hadn’t actually come to that conclusion until that moment, but somehow she knew with every fiber of her being that the baby was a boy. Her little boy.

He sighed, the sound weary, reluctant. “All right.” He pushed the tousled hair back from his face. “We’ll start with who found you. We need as much information as possible.”

That would be a waste of time. “Detective Lagios has gone over what he saw that night a hundred times. He was in a car chase with the Seaside Strangler. It was dark and rainy. The fog was thick. He almost missed seeing me lying there on the side of the road. He carried me to the clinic, and that’s all there is.”

“I remember.” Nicholas stepped closer, bent down, picked up the blanket and draped it around her shoulders once more. “If I’m going to help you, there’s one thing we must get straight right from the beginning.”

He was going to help her? She shivered. His touch did that to her. It made her furious that he affected her so easily. But then, he was the father of her child.

And the only man she’d ever loved.

Don’t even go there. She needed his help, nothing more. She couldn’t go back down that path.

“What’s that?” She fisted her fingers into the blanket and pulled it close.

“We will do this my way.” He held up a hand when she would have protested. “No negotiations.”

“Fine.” Anything. She only cared that they got started.

“We’ll start first thing in the morning.”

Tomorrow? No! “We have to start now.” Didn’t he get it? Her baby was out there. The idea that he hadn’t been fed…or bathed…tore at Camille’s heart. “Right now, Nicholas. No negotiations,” she reiterated, using his words.

“It’s after midnight,” he said quietly. “We can’t storm into a person’s house at this time of night and hope to achieve cooperation.”

Like she had done? She hadn’t considered the time. She’d come straight here as soon as she’d given her parents the slip.

“But—”

Banging on the front door made her jump. Her heart rocketed into her throat. Had her father tracked her here? He would not be happy. She hadn’t told her parents who the real father was yet…she’d let them believe the child was Grant’s. It was easier.

Now who was the coward?

Before she could mull over that idea, Nicholas had strode to the window next to the door and peered out past the curtain.

“It’s Chief Swanson.”

Goose bumps spilled across her skin. The chief thought she had hurt her baby. That she’d done the unspeakable. Had her father sent him here to bring her home?

More banging on the door jerked her from the troubling thoughts.

“Sterling, it’s Chief Swanson. I need to speak with you!”

Camille didn’t know what to do. Should she hide?

Nicholas held her gaze another moment. “Is there anything else I should know?” he asked.

She wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but she shook her head.

He turned his attention to the door and opened it. “It’s late,” he said to the chief.

Swanson removed his hat and shook himself to send the water flying from his overcoat before stepping across the threshold. “This couldn’t wait.” His gaze landed on Camille and he blinked, clearly startled. “Miss Wells,” he said with a dip of his head.

“Chief.” She couldn’t keep the antagonism out of that one word. How could this man, a man who had known her for most of her life, believe she’d hurt or abandoned her child?

Nicholas closed the door and folded his arms over his broad chest. “What couldn’t wait?”

The chief turned his hat in his hands as if he didn’t look forward to passing along whatever he’d come here to say. “Someone has leaked your identity.”

The news sent a tremor of fear through Camille. Though Nicholas looked unfazed, she was certain he had to be worried as well.

“How did that happen?” he demanded. “Only you, Lagios and the village’s legal counsel knew.”

The chief pressed his lips together and moved his head solemnly from side to side before admitting, “I can only assume someone overheard a telephone conversation between me and Andrei.” He blew out a burdened breath. “I hate to think that any of my deputies would have done such a thing, but there’s just no other explanation. We both know that most folks around here, my staff included, aren’t going to feel any sympathy for you.”

Camille’s shoulders sagged with the weight of what this meant. The citizens of Raven’s Cliff would not be happy that they had again been misled by one of their own. Between her father’s betrayal, Fisher’s and Gibson’s, the whole village was overwhelmed. One more infraction might just send any number of normally good citizens over the edge. Battle-fatigued already from a serial killer, a mad scientist and a terrorist group, anything could happen.

“I received a dozen calls in the past two hours,” Swanson explained. He looked from Nicholas to Camille and back. “They’re already talking about the curse.”

The curse. Dear Lord. Camille closed her eyes and caught herself as she swayed again. This was too much. Nicholas needed to be focused on helping her find her child. He didn’t need this insanity right now.

“I appreciate your warning me,” Nicholas said, his tone resigned. “I don’t care what the people of Raven’s Cliff think of me. You know what I came here to do. I’ve waited far too long as it is.”

Judging by the chief’s grave expression, there was more bad news. “It’s not going to be that simple, Nicholas.”

Nicholas flinched at the familiarity. “What do you mean?”

“Some of them have put two and two together. They’ve reasoned that you’ve been here for the better part of the past five years. So have their troubles. That makes those who usually lend no credibility to the curse think twice.” He fumbled with his hat a bit more. “They want you gone. Now. Tonight.”

“No.” Camille didn’t realize she’d said the word aloud until both the chief and Nicholas turned to her. Her face flushed. “He…” She might as well say it. “He can’t leave.”

“Miss Wells,” the chief said patiently, “unless he’s broken a law I have no cause to run him out of town, so don’t mistake what I’m here to do.”

“What are you here to do?” Nicholas asked pointedly, drawing the chief’s attention back to him.

“I’m here to warn you. It’s a damned shame that some folks have to act this way, but it’s only human I suppose. The fact of the matter is, I can’t guarantee your safety, considering.”

Considering. Fury bolted through Camille. “That’s ridiculous.” She took a step in the chief’s direction. “When I was in the hospital, I had around-the-clock security. If you can do it for me, you can do it for Nicholas. Post a deputy outside.” She thrust her hand toward the front of the cottage. “I would think you would’ve already taken that measure.”

The chief shrugged. “I’ll do all I can, Miss Wells. But the people of Raven’s Cliff are pretty worked up. They’ve been through a lot. Some folks aren’t thinking rationally.”

“I appreciate your efforts,” Nicholas said. “But I can handle this myself.”

“I don’t—” Whatever the chief would have said was interrupted by his cell phone. He pulled the phone from his belt. “Swanson.”

Camille’s burst of adrenaline abandoned her, leaving her weak and feeling defeated. What did they do now? Finding her child had to be priority. If anyone got in the way—

The chief’s call ended and he tucked the phone back into his belt, dragging her attention to him once more. “Looks like we’re about to find out just how ugly this is going to get.”

The air in Camille’s lungs evacuated.

“There’s a riled-up mob headed this way. My deputies are trying to dissuade them, but they’re not cooperating.”

Before Nicholas or Camille could respond, the sound of angry shouts erupted outside.

The chief rushed to the window and looked out, then turned back to Nicholas. “They’re here.”

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