A FORMER SOLDIER IS REUNITED WITH THE WOMAN HE LOVED—AND THE SON WHO MAY HAVE WITNESSED FAR TOO MUCH…

Four years in an Afghan prison couldn’t erase beautiful Devon Reese from Kieran O’Roarke’s damaged memory. So when they are reunited on a beach back in Coral Cove and she begs for help, the wounded hero doesn’t hesitate. He just responds. And when he learns Devon’s little boy—a son he hadn’t known existed—may have witnessed a brutal murder, the seasoned warrior refuses to let Devon live in fear. Struggling to recall the intimacies they once shared, Kieran is desperate to keep his new family from becoming a killer’s latest victims. He lost them once—he won’t lose them again. Even if he has to die fighting.

“I don’t know who you are.”

Her face crumpled and she looked ready to pitch forward.

He had to do better than that. He dragged his hands out of his pockets and held them out in supplication.

“I have some memory, but some things... I know you—” he clenched his fist and pounded it against his chest “—here, but I don’t know who you are. I don’t know your name.”

Silent tears dripped from her eyes. Wiping her hand across her nose, she drew in a shuddering breath. “I’m Devon. Devon Reese. I’m your... We were engaged.”

Kieran squeezed his good eye closed and whispered her name. “Devon. Devon.”

Yes, the name filled him with warmth and longing, those feelings belonging to his hazy past. They had been engaged. A woman like Devon, filled with golden light and promise, would never want a damaged man like him.

Eyewitness
Carol Ericson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Carol Ericson lives with her husband and two sons in Southern California, home of state-of-the-art cosmetic surgery, wild freeway chases, palm trees bending in the Santa Ana winds and a million amazing stories. These stories, along with hordes of virile men and feisty women, clamor for release from Carol’s head. It makes for some interesting headaches until she sets them free to fulfill their destinies and her readers’ fantasies. To find out more about Carol, her books and her strange headaches, please visit her website, www.carolericson.com , “where romance flirts with danger.”

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CAST OF CHARACTERS

Kieran Roarke—A former prisoner of war, damaged and alone, he’s compelled to return to Coral Cove and the woman who got him through his imprisonment, even if he can’t remember her name. Once he meets her, and the son he hadn’t known about, he’ll do anything to protect them—even employ the brutal skills that have no place in civilized society.

Devon Reese—She returns to her hometown for peace and quiet when a neighbor is murdered and her son withdraws after the crime. But the killer follows her, suspecting she’s an eyewitness, and she must turn to the man she’d written off as dead, who’s now a stranger, to protect her and their son.

Michael Roarke—The murder of his grandmotherly neighbor sends the little boy into a private world of fear. What he’s not telling his mother might end up getting them both killed.

Mrs. Del Vecchio—This quirky senior citizen had a special relationship with Michael Roarke, but her murder winds up putting the boy in danger.

Johnny Del—Mrs. Del Vecchio’s dead husband was the leader of a gang of bank robbers. Does his criminal past cast a long shadow over the present?

Dr. Elena Estrada—This psychiatrist tries to help Michael come out of his shell...and puts herself in danger for her efforts.

Sam Frost—Dr. Estrada’s new boyfriend is friendly and helpful, but what does she really know about his past?

Bud “The Pelican” Pelicano—One of Johnny Del’s old cohorts, he died in prison, but may have lived long enough to pass off the secrets of his criminal past to his son.

Mayor Tyler Davis—He’s all about projecting a pristine image of Coral Cove to attract tourists, and he doesn’t appreciate the fact that big-city crime has followed Devon to his town. How far will he go to get her to leave?

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter One

Devon Reese stopped dead in her tracks. She balanced the laundry basket on her hip and tilted her head, listening for a second thump from downstairs. Either Mrs. Del Vecchio had just knocked something over or the eighty-year-old widow had taken up aerobics.

Hearing only street noises from her North Beach neighborhood in San Francisco wafting through the open window, Devon hitched up the basket and pushed the bathroom door wide. She plucked her towel from the rack and swept up Michael’s towel from the floor. She tossed a few washcloths into the basket and then gripped the handles.

She tiptoed past the closed door of Michael’s room where he was napping, and padded into the kitchen on bare feet. Crouching down, she grabbed a bottle of detergent from under the sink and then dumped some quarters into her palm. Devon dreaded laundry day, especially since she had to haul down to the ground floor for the laundry room.

She snagged her keys from the hook by the door. Once in the hallway, she turned to lock the deadbolt. Even as a single mom, she felt safe in their building with the security door in the front. But she never left Michael alone in an unlocked apartment, even for the five minutes it took to load the laundry in the washing machine.

Jogging down the stairs, Devon clutched the basket of towels to her chest and peered over the top. She hit the bottom step and crossed the hall in front of Mrs. Del Vecchio’s door. Maybe she should check up on the old gal. That thump could’ve meant a bad fall. She owed her that since Mrs. Del Vecchio had taken a particular interest in Michael, baking him cookies and telling him interesting, if unusual, stories about cops and robbers and pirates.

Devon peeked in at the silent machines in the laundry room and grinned. “It’s my lucky day.”

Sad but true that a couple of empty washing machines ranked up there as one of the highlights of her day off from the hospital. Since she’d lost her fiancé and given birth to their son alone, she’d learned to find joy in the smallest pleasures of life.

As she loaded her towels, the door to the laundry room slammed shut. She jumped and spun around with her heart pounding. Lunging for the door, she swung it open and peered into the hallway just in time to see the security door to the building click shut.

Probably that annoying kid in the corner apartment upstairs. Last week he kept practicing skateboard jumps off the front steps of the apartment house.

Devon kicked down the door stopper and returned to the washing machine. She dumped her detergent into the receptacle and punched the buttons for a warm-water wash.

As she left the laundry room, she nearly bumped into Sharon Mosely, mother of the obnoxious teen. “Oops, excuse me, Sharon. Hey, did your son just come this way?”

Sharon squeezed past Devon with her own basket. “No. He’s at the skate park. Sorry for the incident on the steps last week. Just wait until your little one is a teenager. Enjoy him while he’s young and sweet.”

Devon rolled her eyes. “I plan to.”

She passed Mrs. Del Vecchio’s door and then backtracked. Pressing her ear against the panel, she tapped lightly. “Mrs. Del Vecchio?”

Silence.

Devon knocked louder. “Mrs. Del Vecchio, are you in there? Are you okay?”

Holding her breath, Devon grasped the door handle and knocked again. It was a huge ordeal for Mrs. Del Vecchio to venture outside, so she had to be home. Besides, hadn’t Devon just heard a big thump from her apartment?

She twisted the door handle and let out a breath when it turned in her hand. Bumping the door with her hip, Devon called, “Mrs. Del Vecchio?”

The sound of running water filled the small apartment along with the overpowering scent of lemon. Drawing her brows over her nose, Devon crept farther into the room.

A couple of sofa pillows lay scattered on the floor. A desk drawer gaped open, its contents littering the carpet. Books tilted helter-skelter on a built-in shelf.

Devon folded her arms, her fingers pinching into her biceps. A chill inched its way up her spine with each step into the disordered apartment. “Mrs. Del Vecchio?”

Devon followed the sound of the water coming from the kitchen. She reached the kitchen entryway and grabbed on to the doorjamb for support as she gasped and swayed forward.

Mrs. Del Vecchio’s body lay in a crumpled heap on the tiled floor. Water flowed over the lip of the sink and streamed down the cabinets, creating a pool of bubbles where the lemon-scented dishwashing liquid dripped.

With her heart racing, Devon peeled her hands from the doorjamb and stumbled toward Mrs. Del Vecchio. She must have slipped and fallen, but how did her entire head get wet?

And why was her apartment a mess?

Devon’s training as a nurse kicked in, and she willed her legs to stop trembling. She knelt in the soapy water and brushed away the damp gray strands of hair clinging to Mrs. Del Vecchio’s neck to check her pulse.

“Mrs. Del Vecchio!” She didn’t figure her neighbor was conscious, but she had to make sure.

Mrs. Del Vecchio’s head lolled to the side and Devon gritted her teeth. The old woman’s eyes were wide open and her skin had a bluish tinge. She hadn’t fallen and hit her head.

Devon’s gaze darted to the sink overflowing with water and back to Mrs. Del Vecchio’s neck, where red welts were beginning to turn purple. She slid Mrs. Del Vecchio onto her back, tilted her chin up, and pumped her chest. She paused, pressing her ear against her neighbor’s heart.

A woman screamed behind her, and Devon’s head shot up. Sharon sagged in the doorway to the kitchen, a white-knuckled fist pressed against her mouth.

“Sharon, call 911. I don’t know if there’s anything I can do for her.”

Even though Devon was an obstetrics nurse, she knew death when she saw it. But what kind of death? Strangulation? Drowning? Both?

However Mrs. Del Vecchio died, it was no accident.

* * *

SQUEEZING HER SON’S clammy hand, Devon glanced over her right shoulder at the white van that had rolled into the coastal lookout area and parked next to her car. Her heart lurched painfully as she bent toward Michael’s dark head.

“It’s okay now, sweetie. We’re home. Bad things don’t happen in Coral Cove.”

Devon sealed her lie with a kiss on Michael’s sun-drenched hair. Even though her hometown of Coral Cove had endured its share of tragedies, it had always seemed like a safe refuge—until those murders last month. But the killer had died, the tourists were back for a summer of sun and surf, and it sure beat the heck out of San Francisco in the safety department.

Her son responded by gripping her hand even tighter and nestling his body against her side. Devon sighed and ruffled Michael’s curls. The instant she’d discovered Mrs. Del Vecchio’s dead body two weeks ago, Devon had known it would hit her son hard. Mrs. Del Vecchio had been like a grandmother to Michael, a wacky grandmother, but a grandmother nonetheless.

But Devon didn’t realize the murder would devastate him, altering his personality from outgoing little boy to this nervous, withdrawn stranger.

She swung her silent son’s hand and skipped, hoping to inject a little enthusiasm into his demeanor. “I’m taking you to one of my favorite places in Coral Cove.”

When her statement failed to elicit a question from Michael, she continued, forcing a cheery note into her voice. “It’s the oldest house in Coral Cove and it even has a name. Columbella House.”

Devon pointed to the cliff around the next bend. “The house overlooks the ocean, and there’s a path to the beach just before we reach the house. Do you want to go down to the beach?”

Michael nodded and Devon released a breath. The family therapist they’d seen in San Francisco had told Devon to give Michael time to recover from the shock. Devon figured he’d have a better chance of doing that away from their apartment in San Francisco where he’d woken up from his nap just in time to see Mrs. Del Vecchio’s body wheeled out beneath a white sheet.

Devon led Michael along the familiar curve of the road, their sneakers scuffing against the sand and gravel on the shoulder. She didn’t dare tell Michael that most of the residents of Coral Cove thought Columbella House was haunted. A month ago her son’s eyes would’ve widened at that pronouncement and he would’ve begged to explore. Now—her gaze shifted to Michael’s stiff, little face as she swallowed hard—he’d freak out.

“There’s Columbella House. Nobody lives there now, so I don’t think anyone will mind if we use the private access to the beach.”

She glanced back at the lookout. A silver sedan had joined her car and the van. Maybe they were waiting for the sunset.

The little wooden gate that opened onto the path to the beach squeaked as Devon unhitched it and pulled it toward her, a piece of rotten wood breaking off in her hand. She jerked her head up and narrowed her eyes at the shuttered windows on the second story of the house.

The hair on the back of her neck quivered, but the windows stared back at her blankly. Sweeping her hand across her sweatshirt, she grimaced. Michael’s skittishness had infected her—that and the fact that the police suspected Mrs. Del Vecchio’s killer was the one who slammed shut the laundry room door on his way out of the building.

No need to feel nervous here. Columbella House had never felt menacing to her. She was probably one of the few people left in Coral Cove who cherished fond memories of the house. One of the few people left alive who cherished fond memories.

Rubbing the back of her hand across her tingling nose, she grabbed Michael’s wrist. “The path’s not too steep, but be careful. I think Coral Cove had a lot of rain this past spring. It makes the ground spongy.”

Michael twisted from her hold and clambered down the path ahead of her. Her son may have lost his desire to speak, but the trauma of Mrs. Del Vecchio’s murder hadn’t curtailed his agility and natural athletic ability. He’d gotten those attributes from his dad.

Devon picked her way down the rocky trail. The sound of a car’s engine caused her to twist her head around, but she could no longer see the road. Not many tourists ventured this way since the Private Property sign discouraged interlopers, and the locals generally steered clear of Columbella House. Still, the lookout point attracted some tourists, like the inhabitants of that white van and the sedan, and the summer season had already drawn its share of people to Coral Cove. Already, the small town boasted a good number of tourists…and strangers.

She hoped the cozy atmosphere here would have a healing effect on Michael. She jumped as a rock rolled past her foot. God knows, Coral Cove hadn’t done much to soothe her yet. Too many memories.

Michael had scrambled off the last of the boulders that tumbled to the dry sand. Devon called, “Wait right there.”

Shading her eyes against the sun low on the horizon, Devon squinted at the glassy waves scurrying onto the shore. The tide remained low, but she remembered how the water could rush in suddenly, soaking beach towels and carrying sand toys out to sea.

She tromped down the remainder of the path, and then perched on a rock next to Michael. “Pretty cool, huh? I bet you don’t remember it here.”

After her dad had passed away, Devon and her twin brother, Dylan, had come back to Coral Cove for the funeral. Michael had been two then. Dylan was already working as a cop for the San Jose P.D., following in his dad’s footsteps. Their father had been the police chief of Coral Cove for years, and their mom couldn’t live here anymore without him. Guess Devon had sort of followed in her mom’s footsteps since Coral Cove hadn’t been as welcoming to her since her fiancé had disappeared.

“Do you want to do some exploring before the sun goes down?” Devon pushed up from the rock and extended her hand to Michael.

He nodded but brushed her hand aside as he jumped from the rock, immediately scooping up smaller pebbles from the sand.

Devon shoved her hands into the front pocket of her sweatshirt, twisting her fingers together. Michael’s small show of independence had to be a good sign.

Scuffing along the dry sand, Devon kept an eye on her son as he took a zigzag route toward the sea cave at the end of the beach, his ubiquitous blue backpack bouncing against his back. Surely time would heal his shock over what had happened to Mrs. Del Vecchio.

The SFPD had ruled Mrs. Del Vecchio’s death a murder. The autopsy had confirmed death by drowning. The welts on her neck had been where her killer had grabbed her, forcing her head into the kitchen sink filled with water.

Devon crossed her arms, hunching her shoulders. Why would someone murder an eighty-year-old woman like that? As far as the cops could tell, the killer hadn’t stolen anything from the apartment even though it had been ransacked. The murder had spooked enough of the residents that several of them had taken extended vacations—including Devon. She’d taken a leave of absence from the hospital.

Now she just wanted her son back.

Michael hesitated at the mouth of the cave, twisting his head over his shoulder.

“It’s okay. I’ll come with you.” Devon jogged across the sand and grabbed Michael’s hand. This time he returned the pressure and they ducked into the cave together.

The waves crashing against the walls of the cave created an echoing bass sound that made Devon’s chest tingle. The moist walls dripped salt water on their heads and Devon inhaled the briny scent.

Michael squatted next to a tide pool, almost dipping his nose in the water.

“It’s hard to see in here this time of day, but we’ll come back one morning.” She jerked her thumb toward a small opening at the top of a pile of rocks. “Do you want to climb up there and peek through the little window?”

Like a mountain goat, Michael scampered up the rocks and shoved his head into the opening in the side of the cave, which seemed bigger than Devon had remembered it. Time, wind and sea water had done their part to erode the rock.

Michael thrust his entire head and shoulders through the hole and Devon sucked in a sharp breath. “Come out of there, Michael.”

By the time Devon placed one foot on the first level of rock, Michael’s upper torso, backpack and all, had disappeared. “Michael!” Her voice bounced off the walls of the cave, merging with the deep booming.

The opening became a living entity sucking Michael’s body farther into its depths. Devon knew only more rocks and a sheer drop into a rough sea awaited Michael on the other side of that hole.

As Michael’s legs wriggled through the opening, Devon screamed, flinging her hands in front of her in a desperate but empty move to grab him. She couldn’t fit through that hole. Her only hope of saving her son was to exit the cave and circle around on top of it…and valuable seconds were ticking away.

She jumped from the rocks, her feet landing in a pool of water. She sloshed her way out of the cave, her chest heaving with sobs, incoherent prayers tumbling from her lips.

Stumbling from the cave, she blinked in the light and lurched toward the boulders scattered up the incline toward the road. She banged her knee as she clambered on top of the first rock.

“Michael!” She crawled onto the next rock and craned her neck to get a clear view of the top of the cave. Her teeth chattered and her hands shook as she gazed at the empty expanse of rock.

Oh, God, he must’ve fallen into the water.

Devon staggered to her feet, flinging her arms out for balance. Adrenaline pumped through her body. She’d make it to the edge of the rock and then she’d jump in to save him.

“He’s here. He’s safe.”

Clasping her hands to her chest where her thundering heart threatened to burst through, Devon spun around toward the male voice. A tall man with windswept black hair had one hand clamped on Michael’s shoulder.

Devon ran her tongue around her dry lips and swallowed. The relief weakened her knees and she sank to the ground.

Michael struggled against the man’s hold, and Devon realized he was keeping her son off the dangerous rocks. But Michael didn’t like strangers…not anymore.

Devon scooped the salty air into her lungs and rose to her feet. “It’s okay, Michael. Stay with the man. I’m coming.”

She straightened her spine and on trembling legs, she strode toward her son and the stranger who had saved him. The man’s long hair blew back from his face, a black patch covering one eye.

Great. Before Mrs. Del Vecchio’s murder, Michael would’ve pegged the man as a pirate and would’ve been as excited as all get-out. Now he’d view him as another scary stranger.

Devon jumped from the rocks to the sand and her step faltered. The way the man held his head. His lean muscular frame. She drew closer. The set of his jaw. Her steps quickened. The black, black hair like a velvet midnight sky.

She choked and tripped. She extended her arms like a blind woman, no, like a woman staggering through the desert toward an oasis.

When she fully focused on the man’s face, Devon fell to her knees, crying out in indescribable shock and joy.

Her fiancé, Kieran Roarke, had come back from the dead.

Chapter Two

Kieran dug his long fingers into the boy’s bony shoulder. Was his mother injured? Relieved to see her son?

Or had she just seen a ghost?

The squirming boy broke away from his grasp and flew to the woman still kneeling on the ground. Holding the boy against his will had pained Kieran. He had frightened the boy when he’d plucked him from those rocks and carried him down to the sand, but he’d probably saved him from a tumble over the edge and into the sea.

Maybe he should’ve allowed the other man making his way toward the boy a chance to save him. He turned, but the man had disappeared.

Kieran had been watching them—the boy and his mother. He’d been watching them for a few days and knew the woman would come to Columbella House. Just as Kieran, through the foggy memories of his messed-up mind, had been drawn to this small town and the house looming over the sea, the woman had been lured here as well. He’d recognized the woman as soon as he’d seen her on the street—recognized her from his dreams.

When the ethereal blonde had dropped to the ground, Kieran’s first response had been to rush to her rescue. But when she looked up at him, she was laughing…crying…laughing and crying at the same time.

Now she stumbled to her feet, gripping the little boy’s hand, a smile of pure joy lighting her beautiful face. She reached her other hand out to him and breathed his name. “Kieran.”

Pain sliced through his head, pooling in his damaged eye. Gritting his teeth, he rode it out, allowing the memories to crisscross his brain. He’d heard his name on her lips many times before—in laughter, in anger, in desire. He tried to focus, but as usual, the strands of his life floated away out of reach.

“Are you okay?” He took a step forward.

Her eyes widened and a haze of confusion shifted across her face. “A-am I okay? I thought you were dead.”

Did she expect him to sweep her into his arms? Assure her he’d never leave her again? Shoving his hands in his pockets, he dug his heels into the grains of sand littering the rock. He couldn’t do that—not now, not ever.

After he’d escaped from that hellhole in Afghanistan and made it to safety, the army had sent him to a hospital in Germany. They’d told him his name and a few other basics, but then the military sent him to Walter Reed. They wanted to debrief him in the States and scheduled him to see an army psychiatrist to help him regain his memory.

But he’d had enough of people telling him what to do.

Kieran squared his shoulders and took a deep breath of moist, salty air. “I don’t know who you are.”

Her face crumpled and she looked ready to pitch forward.

He had to do better than that. He dragged his hands out of his pockets and held them out in supplication.

“I have some memory, but some things…I have jolts or flashes. I know you,” he clenched his fist and pounded it against his chest, “here, but I don’t know who you are. I don’t know your name.”

She covered her mouth with one hand as silent tears dripped from her eyes and streamed across her fingers. Wiping her hand across her nose, she drew in a shuddering breath. “I’m Devon. Devon Reese. I’m your… We were engaged.”

Kieran squeezed his good eye closed and whispered her name. “Devon. Devon.”

Yes, the name filled him with warmth and longing, those feelings belonged to his hazy past. They were engaged. A woman like Devon, filled with golden light and promise, would never want a damaged man like him.

Maybe she’d already moved on. The boy had to have a father somewhere. And if she hadn’t already moved on, Kieran would make sure she did.

Soft fingers traced the edge of his eye patch, and he jerked back. She’d moved across the sand silently, tugging the quiet boy in her wake. He looked into her tear-streaked face and had to drag his gaze away from the luminous depths of her blue eyes before he drowned. He didn’t have time for weakness, the kind of weakness that had drawn him to this place and this woman. For four long years he’d expunged every kind of weakness from his soul…or his captors had beaten it out of him.

“What happened to your eye?”

He scanned her voice for an ounce of pity. Finding none, he shrugged. “I don’t remember.”

The ocean breeze tousled Devon’s blond mane, and she grabbed it with one hand, pulling it back from her face. “Can we continue this conversation up top? The tide’s going to be moving in soon.”

Kieran wanted to continue talking to Devon. He wanted to continue basking in her glow. He wanted to get answers. He knew the conversation would end in heartache for her, but his years imprisoned in that filthy hovel had taught him selfishness. It had given him a brittle heart.

“Sure.” He pointed to the boy who had been clinging to Devon’s leg throughout their exchange. “Is your son okay?”

Devon’s cheeks flushed bright red. “Michael’s fine.”

Touchy subject? He didn’t know much about kids, but the boy didn’t seem fine to him.

Kieran climbed over the first set of boulders and turned to give Devon and her son a hand, but they had navigated the rocks with ease. Even the boy, who had seemed tentative and withdrawn, was scampering across the rocks like his feet knew every step.

“This is the easiest path back up to the road.” Devon jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “Or do you remember that?”

Kieran knew it but not because he remembered it from years ago. He knew it because he’d been hiding out at Columbella House…waiting for Devon.

He said, “I know,” and swept his arm in front of him. “Why don’t you two go ahead?”

Hoisting herself up onto his rock, Devon squeezed past him. Her silky hair brushed his shoulder and he inhaled her intoxicating scent—all sweetness and purity. Who needed food and water? That smell alone could sustain him for years.

Kieran clenched his jaw. Stop dreaming, Roarke. You’re on a fact-finding mission. And that’s it.

As Devon climbed ahead of him, Kieran’s gaze traced the outline of her body beneath her baggy sweatshirt and cargo shorts. His fingertips tingled with the remembrance of her smooth skin. Since he’d lost his memory, his senses had taken up where his mind had left off. Smells, sounds and touches could trigger responses from him even if he couldn’t remember the occasions that elicited those responses.

Maybe he should’ve continued with his debriefing and psychiatric help, but he didn’t want the army implanting any memories that didn’t belong there or messing with the ones that did. He knew how the black-ops division of the military conducted business. Hadn’t they told his brother he was dead? Hadn’t they refused to contact his brother or parents when he’d been found alive? Military security. National security. Top secret information. He’d heard it all before.

Of course, nothing stopped him from contacting his family now. But what would they want with him? Apparently, his younger brother, Colin, had escaped from the same captors that had held Kieran against his will for four long years. His brother had probably moved on with his life. He wouldn’t want to be reminded of what he’d endured, especially by a man who had no memories, a man whose very soul had turned black with rage.

Devon slipped and skidded toward him. Kieran caught her around the waist, steadying her. “Careful.”

She looked down at him, her moist lips slightly parted, her blue eyes bright with tears. His hand tightened as his breath came out in short spurts. He shouldn’t have come here. Why subject Devon to his presence when he’d spared his brother and parents?

Her golden lashes fluttered, and his heart skittered in his chest. Weakness. That’s what led him here in the first place. He couldn’t succumb to it. Ever. If he had shown any weakness to his captors, they would’ve killed him.

He dropped his hands from Devon’s waist as if he’d been scorched. She blinked twice, turned and continued to hike up the path to the road.

When they reached the top, Devon faced him with her hands on her hips. “Have you contacted anyone else in Coral Cove? Do you know you have a brother…Colin? There are people, other people who have been devastated by your—” she glanced at her son “—disappearance.”

“Let’s get off the side of the road.” He jerked his head toward Columbella House. “I’ve been bunking there. We can talk on the deck.”

Devon’s brows shot up. “You’ve been staying at Columbella House? Do you know that you have a house down the road? Or rather the house belongs to your parents. You grew up there.”

“I didn’t know that.” He shrugged. He’d figured he’d grown up in Coral Cove, but no other house or location in this town had drawn him like this one. “Is Colin still here?”

“No. Coincidentally, he was in town last month, investigating…investigating.” Devon waved her hands in the air.

Kieran unlatched the gate leading to the back of the house and a wooden deck that perched over the rocks. Nobody from the street could see this deck and Kieran had brushed off the Adirondack chairs and enjoyed several sunsets from this vantage point.

“Have a seat.” He nudged one chair with his foot. Grabbing a wicker basket from the corner, he said, “Michael, do you want to look at some cool shells?”

The boy ignored him, but slid a gaze toward his mother. “Can I find a Columbella?”

“Maybe.” She flicked her fingers toward the basket. “Have a look.”

Michael slipped his backpack from his shoulders and placed it next to the basket. As he sat cross-legged in front of the basket and pulled out the first shell, Devon seemed to melt into the chair.

Something about the boy was off. Of course, Kieran didn’t know Michael at all and he might have judged him a little shy or clingy except for the tension that stiffened Devon’s body whenever she looked at her son.

“So I grew up in Coral Cove and we were engaged.”

Devon’s attention snapped back to him as she sucked in a quick breath.

He’d have to work on his social skills if he hoped to have a life in the free world. His tormenters hadn’t valued the attributes of subtlety or nuance.

“Yes, but not in high school.” She drew up her knees, wrapping her arms around her legs. “We reconnected when we both returned home after graduating from college. I was planning on going to nursing school, and you were going into the military. You had a thing for languages. Do you…?”

“Do I still speak several languages?” Kieran gripped the flat arms of the chair. “Yeah. I didn’t forget the languages, just the rest of my life.”

Devon balanced her chin on her knees, watching Michael. “What happened, Kieran? Can you at least tell me that?”

“A military operation that went south.”

“Colin was with you, but he was with the FBI.”

Kieran’s eye twitched beneath his patch. “It was a multi–task force raid on a terrorist group, but someone snitched us off. I don’t remember much about it. The army briefed me after I escaped.”

“H-how long?” She rolled her head to the side, resting her cheek on her knee as her blond hair swept across her legs.

He knew just how the strands would feel slipping through his fingers. He raked his hair back from his face and said, “Four years.”

She gasped and choked. “You were in some kind of prison for four years?”

“Some kind of prison. Not nearly as nice as what we have going on here.” His lips twisted in a bitter smile. A filthy cot. An earthenware pot for a toilet. Stale bread for dinner. And the beatings, always the beatings.

He’d never tell Devon any of that. She belonged light years away from all of it. Light years away from him.

She closed her eyes and a tear slid from beneath her lashes. “I’m so sorry, Kieran. You lost your memory while you were imprisoned? Everything? Every memory?”

Almost every memory except for a golden warmth that kept him alive.

“I think I took a particularly bad blow to the head during some kind of beating.” He pointed to his patch. “Probably when that happened. When I came to, I could piece together that I was military and that I was a prisoner of war. Certain memories would float in and out.”

Devon looked up, a tear trembling on the edge of her lashes. “But no memories of me?”

How could he explain it to her? He couldn’t remember her face or her name, or even that he had a fiancée. But every day in that damned prison he had a will to survive, some force of goodness and light that shored up his strength, hardened him against the torture, forged a brutal desire to live.

Left a shell of a man.

How ironic that he now had to give up the source of his survival because the survival itself had turned him into a monster.

His jaw tightened. “No. No memories of you.”

The soft sigh from her lips made him clench his hands and turn his gaze onto the boy, patiently sorting shells, examining each one as if looking for a pearl.

“Then why are you here? Shouldn’t you be in treatment or something?” She brushed her hair from her face and straightened her spine, pinning her shoulders to the back of the chair.

Kieran shrugged. “The army wanted to send me to some shrink at Walter Reed. I chose not to go. I want to recover my memories in my own way, in my own time.”

“But surely the army told you about your brother and the location of your parents? They must’ve told you about growing up in Coral Cove.”

The army had told him all of that, but the minute Lieutenant Jeffries, his debriefer, had mentioned Coral Cove, Kieran knew he had to come here first. He knew he’d find his guardian angel in Coral Cove, and as soon as he’d spotted Devon his soul had recognized her. The familiar feelings of hope and optimism had flooded his senses.

“The army also told my parents and my brother that I was dead. They haven’t bothered to notify them otherwise since I was on a top secret mission, even though Colin was on that same mission. I came here first because I wanted to ease into things slowly.” The lie of his last statement came to his lips easily. He’d perfected lying over the past few years—lying and a lot of other skills that had no place in a civilized society. No place in Devon’s life.

Devon peered at him in the encroaching darkness and whispered, “Do you want me to help you?”

“Yes.” The word flew from his lips before he had time to swallow it. “No. I don’t want you to go to any trouble.”

Her eyes widened, and then she tilted her head back and laughed. She doubled over and laughed some more, her shoulders shaking. When she raised her head, strands of hair clung to her wet cheeks. Her laughter continued unabated, but she didn’t have a smile on her beautiful face.

Michael studied his mother with a frown crinkling his face and clutching two shells in his hands. Even he recognized that her laughter was bereft of humor.

“Go to any trouble?” She wiped the back of her hand across her nose and hiccupped. “We were engaged, Kieran. You disappeared from my life, and then Colin told me you were dead. I was devastated. I could barely get out of bed in the morning. I could barely drag myself into work. I couldn’t envision my life without you. I felt dead.”

Her words punched him in the gut, adding to his guilt and rage that he hadn’t escaped his captors sooner. “I’m sorry, Devon.”

He gazed at Michael, who had gone back to his game with the shells when his mother had stopped laughing. Devon had gone on. Had met someone else. Reclaimed her life. That little boy was evidence of that.

“Don’t be sorry.” Devon gathered her blond hair and twisted it around her hand like a golden rope. “It was fate, just like running into you in Coral Cove on my escape from the city.”

Escape? What was she running from? Unease crawled across his flesh. He slid a look at Michael. Where was his father?

Kieran inhaled the sea air and expelled it between his clenched teeth. “Was that Michael’s father on the cliff? Is that why you were so worried?”

“What?” Her brow furrowed as she tilted her head. “Was who Michael’s father?”

“The man in the white van on the cliff. The man watching Michael.”

* * *

THE WHITE VAN.

Kieran’s words sliced through the fog swirling around her brain. Too many discoveries had pummeled her in such a short period of time, her mind was still reeling. For a minute, she’d thought Kieran had asked about Michael’s father.

She remembered the white van in the lookout area. “There was someone watching Michael when he came up on the rocks?”

Kieran’s shoulders relaxed. “I—I saw you and Michael climb down to the beach. A man had gotten out of the van and was standing at the edge of the lookout. I thought he was making a move toward Michael when he clambered out of the cave, but I got to the boy first.”

Devon shrugged, but a finger of fear had touched the back of her neck. Why had she even noticed that van? She’d been on edge ever since Mrs. Del Vecchio’s murder.

But now she had bigger issues on her plate. Kieran didn’t even remember her. She hadn’t had a chance to tell him about her pregnancy before he’d left for Afghanistan on that top secret mission.

Should she give him some time to piece together the fragments of his life before springing paternity on him? She glanced at the dark stranger coiled in the deck chair, the black patch hiding one eye and a guarded secrecy hiding the other.

Hugging herself, she rubbed her arms. “The guy in the van was a stranger. I’m not running from Michael’s father if that’s what you’re thinking.”

At least not yet.

“That’s good.” He tilted his chin toward her. “Are you cold? Should we continue this conversation inside?”

He couldn’t even bring himself to touch her. What had those monsters done to him?

“Inside Columbella?” She glanced at Michael, whose hands had stalled above the shells.

“It’s shelter from the breeze, anyway.”

“Have you actually been staying in the house?”

“It’s the only place I remembered.”

“H-have you been to the burned-out room?” Did he remember that room? It had been their secret place.

“I saw a room off the library that was scorched.” He threw a sidelong glance at Michael. “It seemed…”

“There was a fire there last month.” She scooted up to the edge of her chair. “I have a better idea.”

His frame stiffened and he clutched the arms of the chair as if ready for takeoff. “What?”

“Your parents have a perfectly good house across the street.” She waved her arm in the general direction of the street on the other side of Columbella House. “It has electricity and everything.”

“Is it occupied?”

Kieran didn’t want to see his family? Yes, he was a different man.

“No. Your parents live in Hawaii now, and Colin just left. He’d been staying there while he was in town.” She crooked her finger at a sleepy Michael, rubbing his eyes, and patted her lap.

“Where’s Colin now?”

Devon scooped Michael into her lap, and he tucked his head into the hollow of her neck. His dark lashes fluttered on his cheeks and Devon’s heart skipped a beat. Couldn’t Kieran see his mirror image in Michael?

“I don’t know. I asked, but apparently Colin took off with Michelle Girard. Do you remember her? She lived…” She trailed off as Kieran shook his head. “Anyway, they took off for parts unknown.”

Kieran rubbed his knuckles against the black stubble of his beard. “People are going to know me here, aren’t they?”

Devon allowed her mouth to hang open for a few seconds. “Of course. I don’t understand how you’ve avoided detection up until this point.”

“I haven’t been here long and I haven’t been out much. The town’s already clogged with tourists. What’s one more with a baseball cap pulled over his face?”

“You’re one of Coral Cove’s favorite sons, Kieran. High school football star, football scholarship to college, prestigious language institute before joining the Green Berets.” She brushed a hand across Michael’s smooth cheek, taking note of his measured breathing, and whispered, “People think you’re dead.”

His one dark eye glittered, unfathomable beneath a half-mast lid. “I suppose I’d cause a stir if I hit the streets.”

“If you hit the streets? You’re not staying?” Her hands bunched Michael’s T-shirt as she hugged his sleeping form closer to her body. “Y-you need medical treatment. Psychiatric treatment.”

“I can get that at Walter Reed.”

“I thought you didn’t trust the government.”

“Is that what you’re doing here?”

“What?” She wasn’t sure she liked this abrupt-talking stranger with the piercing eyes…eye. Was he blind beneath that patch?

He leveled a finger at Michael. “What’s wrong with your boy?”

Devon hunched over Michael’s body in a protective gesture. Was it so clear that Michael had issues? Or was Kieran extra perceptive because of his half blindness…or because he was Michael’s father?

“What do you mean?”

“He’s what? Five? Six? He’s not very vocal. He’s jumpy. Uneasy. Watchful.”

Like his father.

“He’s four.” Devon held her breath, waiting for Kieran to start calculating the years in his head. Did he even remember the last time they were together? Probably not if he thought Michael could be six years old.

Devon slumped in her chair. “Our downstairs neighbor was murdered last month. Michael hasn’t been the same since.”

“Murder can be tough for a kid to handle. Did he know her well?”

“They were…close. But I never told Michael Mrs. Del Vecchio was murdered, just that she had died.”

“Maybe he found out.”

“I don’t know. He won’t talk about it.” Her nose tingled with tears and she buried her face in Michael’s soft hair.

“Is he in treatment?”

“He was seeing a therapist in the city, but I wanted to get away from our apartment house. The therapist thought it was a good idea, too.”

“And now?”

“This is my hometown, a refuge.” Or at least it was before her dead fiancé showed up with no memory. “There also happens to be a great therapist here, who works with hypnosis. She’s a family friend, too, so I trust her with Michael.”

“Hypnosis, huh?”

“She could probably help you, too, Kieran. She’s a family therapist—sees both kids and adults.” She needed another way to keep him here in Coral Cove besides the obvious. Once she told him about Michael, would he feel obligated to stay and try to work things out? The man already had enough pressure.

“Maybe.” He stretched his long legs in front of him and his arms over his head. “Your little one is out. You should get him to bed.”

She peered at the sun dipping into the ocean, one orange crescent floating on a dark blue ripple. “It’s dinner time. He’s going to have to wake up to eat.”

Kieran pushed up from his chair and crossed to hers in two long steps. He held out his arms. “Do you want me to carry him back to your car?”

“I have a better idea. Your parents’ place is just down the street, and I know where they keep the key.”

She shifted, and Kieran bent over, arms still outstretched to take Michael.

“Are you sure?”

“Are you sure? Will he freak out if he wakes up and I’m carrying him?”

Devon gulped. Maybe not if he knew you were his father.

“He’s a pretty heavy sleeper. I think he’ll be okay.”

Kieran slid his arms beneath Michael’s body, one under his back and the other behind his knees. Devon released her son to his father for the first time ever.

Straightening, Kieran hoisted Michael in his arms and secured him against his broad chest.

Devon blinked her eyes and dipped her head, allowing her hair to create a veil over her face. She had to tell him. The knowledge might mess with his mind even more, but it might help him, give him something to live for…because she wasn’t enough for him anymore.

“Lead the way.”

The fact that she was guiding Kieran to his parents’ house created another level of unreality to this day. Why had Columbella House imprinted itself on his memory instead of his family home? A tiny flame of hope flickered in her chest. Was it because of her? Because of what they’d shared in that house, in that now burned-out room?

She held the side gate open for Kieran and Michael snug in his arms. “Let’s stop at my car first. I want to grab my purse. You can wait here.”

“I’ll come with you. Michael’s as light as a feather.”

Their feet crunched the gravel as they walked single file on the road around the bend to the lookout. Her car sat all by itself. The other two people hadn’t stayed for the sunset after all.

As she approached her car, she tilted her head. “Why’s my car listing to one side?”

Kieran swore. “Because your tires have been slashed.”

Chapter Three

Hot anger raced across her skin and she clenched her hands. “Are you kidding me?”

“Your back window is broken, too.” Shifting Michael in his arms, Kieran crouched in the broken glass as he peered into the gaping window. “Did they take anything?”

With shaking hands, Devon beeped her remote and yanked open the passenger-side door. Bending over, she felt under the seat for her small handbag. “My purse is gone.”

“Did you lose much?”

“Besides my faith in the sanctity of small towns?” She kicked at the pebbles of glass on the ground. “I lost my driver’s license and a little cash. Luckily I didn’t have my whole wallet in there with all my credit cards and other ID.”

“You shouldn’t leave your purse in the car like that.”

She stamped her foot, scattering bits of her car window. “I hid it under the seat. And why did he have to add insult to injury and slash two of my tires?”

“Maybe to slow your pursuit.”

“Yeah, like I’m going to pursue some thief.”

“You have to call the cops.” He pointed to the floor of her car. “Or was your cell phone in your purse?”

She patted the pocket of her shorts. “Right here. If I call the cops and they find you here, you’re going to cause a sensation. Are you ready for that?”

He shrugged. “Where would I go?”

“Go to your folks’ house, and take Michael with you.” She brushed a strand of brown hair from Michael’s forehead. “I don’t want him waking up and finding the cops. I don’t want him to see my car.”

“And I don’t want to leave you here on your own, especially after this.” He jerked his head toward the mess of her car.

“I’ll be fine.” She’d tried but couldn’t quash the tremor in her voice. She didn’t want to stand out on the road waiting for the cops, either. “But if you insist, you can watch me from the corner of Columbella House until the cops come and then I’ll have them drop me off at your parents’ house.”

“Uh, where is my parents’ house, and what if Michael wakes up while you’re gone?”

“I’d rather Michael be a little frightened by someone he’s already talked to than have him see the police again and the condition of this car.”

She told Kieran how to get to his own house and told him where his parents kept the key. Then she called the cops.

Kieran retreated to the edge of Columbella House with Michael secure in his arms. The two of them looked so natural together she almost smiled, even though neither knew the other’s identity.

She’d have to remedy that…and soon.

When one Coral Cove police unit pulled up to the lookout, lights flashing, Devon knew she’d made the right decision to send Michael off with his father. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the two of them slip into the shadows.

A young officer swung out of the patrol car, hand on his holster as if he expected to find the suspect, knife in hand. Of course, the police were probably still on edge after the murders last month, even though the perpetrator had died in that fire at Columbella.

“Devon Reese, is that you?”

“Clark?” She recognized the officer now. He’d been a few years behind her in school. “Wow, you’re a cop now.”

“Yeah, too bad your dad’s not chief anymore.” His cheeks reddened. “Not that I don’t like Chief Evans.”

“I heard Chief Evans might be leaving. That’s what my brother told me anyway, and he’s interested in the job.”

“That’d be great to have another Chief Reese in town.” He aimed his finger at her car. “What happened? I can’t believe any kids are responsible for this. Do you think it could’ve been a tourist? A stranger passing through?”

Her mind flitted to the white van. Is that why the man had been watching Michael? To make sure he had time to steal her purse?

“I don’t know. I saw a silver sedan and a white van parked next to my car when Mi… I went down to the beach.”

“Did you get a plate?”

“No.”

Clark tried to lift some prints from the car, but it didn’t look like he was having much luck. He took down a description of her purse and the cars and told her to get a car alarm installed.

“Do you need a tow?”

“I already called Gary’s shop in town. He’s going to come out and get it. In the meantime, can you drop me off at the Roarkes’ house up the street?”

“Sure. You shouldn’t be hanging around Columbella House, anyway. My girlfriend said she saw lights in the house the other night.”

Kieran’s lights?

“I’m glad that fire didn’t destroy the whole house.”

Clark shook his head. “Maybe it should have. Some around here, including the mayor, want to preserve the house, but I wish the St. Regis twins would just tear it down.”

“It’s not the house’s fault.” She slid into the front seat of the patrol car and snapped her seat belt. “I can’t believe Larry Brunswick, the algebra teacher, turned out to be the killer of all those women.

“It was crazy, and then he tried to marry Michelle Girard in that house until Colin Roarke saved her.”

Clark cruised down Coral Cove Drive and made a

U-turn in front of the Roarkes’ house. “Is that why you’re here?”

“Huh?”

“At the Roarkes’.” He jerked his thumb at the window. “Did Colin forget something?”

“Yeah. Yeah, he forgot something.” His brother.

She thanked Clark and scrambled from the car. She hadn’t wanted Michael to wake up to her damaged car and a policeman in uniform, but she didn’t want him waking up with a stranger, either…even if that stranger was his father.

A lamp burned in the window of the house, but she doubted Kieran had turned it on—too careful for that. Colin must’ve left it on or the lamp was on a timer.

Clark waited at the curb, so she sifted through the dirt in a planter at the side of the porch. Her fingers traced the edge of the key. Kieran must have put it back.

She brushed off the key and inserted it into the deadbolt, waving at Clark. Swinging the door open, she took a step into the small entryway. She held her breath and peeked around the corner into the living room.

Kieran looked up from his newspaper, an old one that had headlines of the fiery death of Larry Brunswick, the Reunion Killer. “Everything go okay?”

She blew out a breath as she spotted Michael, still sleeping and tucked into the love seat in the corner. “Well, the cop didn’t find anything. I told him about the white van.”

“Is your car still there?” He folded the paper in his lap.

“For now. Gary’s Auto is sending out a tow truck tonight. He’ll replace the tires and see if he has a replacement for the window.” She dropped into the chair across from Kieran’s. “Everything go okay here?”

“Your son didn’t wake up and start screaming at the stranger with the eye patch, so yeah.”

Kieran pushed up from his chair and wandered toward Michael. He swept a lock of dark hair from her son’s flushed face. “When are you taking him to see your friend the psychiatrist?”

“Probably tomorrow.” She folded her arms, bunching her fists against her body. “Do you want to come along?”

He took a turn around the room, settling in front of the mantel. He studied each framed photo of him and his brother as if imprinting it on his memory. Reaching out, he traced his parents’ faces with the tip of his finger.

“You remember Colin, don’t you?”

He nodded. “He was with me on the assignment when we were captured. And then he escaped.”

“He can’t forgive himself for that. The fact that he left you behind tore at him.”

“I don’t blame him for escaping.” He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his tight-fitting jeans. “I know he would’ve tried to come back for me with reinforcements, but my captors moved me. The army told me that much.”

“How did you get away, Kieran?” She gripped her hands in front of her, twisting her fingers into knots. Did she really want to know? Did she want to hear how he’d suffered?

He shrugged. “I escaped.”

Had he read the ambivalence in her face? If she was going to help him, reclaim him as her own and Michael’s father, she needed to step up to the plate. “You don’t remember what happened to your eye?”

“Nope.”

“Can you see out of it?”

“Not clearly.”

“Can I have a look at it?”

“Nope.”

She clenched her teeth. Stubborn man. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath through her nose, her nostrils flaring. “Did the army doctors look at it?”

“They did.” He slipped his index finger beneath the string that held the black patch to his head. “They issued me this after cleaning the wound and running some tests.”

“Did the tests show anything? Any sensitivity to light?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t hang around long enough to find out.”

“You just checked yourself out of the hospital and took off?”

“It’s my life.”

“They’ll be coming for you.”

“Let ’em try.”

She blew out an exasperated breath. Had talking to Kieran always been like talking to a wall of steel? She squared her shoulders. “If you want my help, you’re going to have to open up a little more.”

“I think you’re the one who needs to open up.”

Her belly flip-flopped and she shot a glance at Michael still sleeping on the love seat. Had Kieran figured it out?

“I’m an open book. What do you want to know about your life?”

“We knew each other in high school.”

Hadn’t they already gone over this? Her pounding heart shifted into a lower gear and she could breathe again. “Yes, but we didn’t date until later. Like I said before, we’d both come back to Coral Cove—I was going into nursing school and you’d just finished at the language institute and had enlisted with the Green Berets.”

“But that wasn’t my first mission, the one where I was captured.”

“No. We were together through a few of your missions.”

As they chatted, Kieran’s body seemed to relax, one muscle group at a time, until he sank into a chair, his back to the window and the darkening sky. His lean frame, thinner than she’d remembered, slumped against the cushions of the chair.

“Do you recall more now that you’re here in Coral Cove? In this house?” With me?

He steepled his fingers and peered at her over the top of the juncture. “I do. The memories come slowly. That’s why I made my way back here after I escaped…from the hospital. I wanted to remember slowly, gradually.”

“I want to help you remember.”

Kieran seemed to sink farther into the chair, the dusk creeping over his shoulder, masking his face.

“You have your own problems right now. You don’t need me to burden you with more.”

His return had already constituted a problem for her. Something close to anger percolated in her belly. Then she pressed a hand against her stomach. She never in a million years thought she’d consider the return of Kieran—her fiancé, her love, the father of her child—a problem.

She eyed the dark man across from her, his face still, unreadable. If he wouldn’t stay for her help, for her, would he stay for his son?

Flinging her hands in front of her, she tried to dissipate the heavy air between them. “It wouldn’t be a burden, Kieran. You’re halfway to remembering almost everything…halfway to knowing everything about your life.”

“I can’t pick up where we left off.”

His words twisted the knife in her heart, the knife he’d plunged there when he didn’t recognize her on the beach. At this point, would he even want to know he’s a father?

“I’m not expecting us to pick up where we left off, Kieran. It’s been over four years. You’ve changed. I’ve changed.”

“You’ve moved on with your life. You thought I was dead.”

She nodded, afraid to blink and dislodge the tears burning behind her lids. In truth, she hadn’t moved on with her life. She lived and breathed Kieran every day through his son. She hadn’t slept with another man in the entire time after Kieran’s disappearance. She could hardly drag herself out on a date.

“We all thought you were dead. I—I’m relieved and so happy that you survived.”

His lips twisted. “Did I?”

“You’re alive.”

“I am.” He shifted in the chair as if to remind himself. “And you have your whole life ahead of you with your son. Are you married? Divorced?”

Uh-oh.

“No.”

Kieran’s hands curled around the arms of the chair. “You never married Michael’s father?”

“No.”

His body stiffened, the relaxed slouch replaced by planes and angles. “Where is he, Michael’s father?”

“Don’t you know, Kieran?”

“No.” He shot to the edge of his seat, his muscles coiled and ready for flight.

“He’s sitting across from me. You’re Michael’s father.”