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  "And if you're this secretive, it's no wonder you aren't married or involved in a serious relationship.”

  "Are we even again?" he asked, feeling ridiculously charged up by their exchange.

  "Stalling, stalling, stalling," she said, putting the strap of her purse over one shoulder.

  "Fine. What do you want to know?"

  "Start with something easy. Tell me about your childhood, your family."

  "My family isn't easy."

  "Tell me about them anyway. Think of it as a way of gaining my trust. That should give you some motivation."

  He debated just how much to tell. Hell, with the way things were going, she probably wouldn't believe him anyway. "Okay. I was born in San Antonio."

  "Texas. I knew I heard an accent."

  "I lived there until I was twelve. That's when my parents divorced."

  "That must have been difficult."

  "It was, but it got worse. A few weeks after the separation, my father picked me up from school one day and told me my mother didn't want me anymore. She couldn't handle two boys, and my brother was younger, so I had to go with my dad. I didn't have a change of clothes or a toothbrush. Or a chance to say good-bye."

  Tyler's chest tightened at the thought of Mark waiting on the porch for him, hoping to play catch or throw a football or follow his big brother around. With their dad gone and their mother interested in dating, Mark had only had him. And, that day, Tyler hadn't come home to take care of his younger brother. Damn.

  "Oh, my God," Kate breathed. "That's awful."

  He hated her look of pity. Hated himself even more for sharing something with her that he hadn't shared with anyone else. He didn't know why he had told her. He could have told her anything. She wouldn't have known if it was the truth or not.

  "Your mother must have tried to find you," Kate said. "Where did you and your dad go?"

  "All over the country." Endless motel rooms, dive apartments, cities that looked the same. "It took me awhile to figure out that we were hiding. My father had these letters, you see, from my mom and my brother. They told me how much they loved me and how someday we'd be together, but for now it was better if we were apart. I stupidly believed the letters were genuine. And more letters and postcards followed those, including a note that told me they had moved to a new house. There was even a goddamn description of the new house. I was completely taken in."

  "Oh, Tyler. How could you have known? Your father sounds like he was very clever. And you were just a kid. How could you not believe him?"

  "By being smarter. I should have found a way to call home. In the beginning I was angry. I didn't want to call. If they didn't want me, then I didn't want them. But I started to waver with time, started to talk about a visit. That's when my dad pulled out his ace.”

  "What was that?"

  "He told me there was a fire. The house was gone. My mother and brother were killed. We only had each other. And you know what else he did? He made up an obituary. That's how sick and twisted he was. And I bought it," he said in self-disgust. "I was an idiot. I look back now and see that I had countless opportunities to figure things out." He doubted he'd ever be able to forgive himself for being so trusting. "At any rate, by the time my mom caught up with us, six years had passed. I was eighteen years old. I didn't need a mother anymore, and even though she was happy to see me, she didn't really need another kid. She'd gotten remarried. My brother had been officially adopted by his stepfather. My mother had another child, a girl. Life had moved on for all of us."

  "That's a terrible story." She gave him a searching look. "You're not lying, are you?"

  "I'm telling you the truth."

  "About this."

  "About this," he agreed.

  Kate sat back in her chair. "Well, I don't know what to say."

  "Don't say anything. I only told you because I know what it's like to live with a father who's willing to do whatever it takes to get what he wants."

  "My dad looks like a saint in comparison.”

  "It's all in the perspective, isn't it?"

  "Where is your mother today?"

  "Dallas."

  "And your father?"

  "He died a couple years ago." Tyler picked up his coffee cup, regretting his confession. "I wonder what they put in this coffee. I don't usually spill my guts like that."

  "It's truth serum. That's why I brought you here."

  He appreciated the light tease in her voice. She was letting him off the hook instead of going after him when he was down. She wouldn't make a very good reporter, but she might just make a good friend. Not that they were going to be friends, he reminded himself. That wasn't possible.

  "It's interesting to me that you picked a career that would take you on the road," she said. "Seems like you would have wanted to settle in one place, put down roots, reconnect with your family, your mother and your brother."

  "Is that what you wanted?" he asked, countering her question with one of his own. "Did those years at sea make you yearn for the hard ground under your feet?"

  "Absolutely. When I first got back, I'd lie in my bed at night and feel the boat rocking beneath me. It took weeks to get my land legs back, to get comfortable with steadiness."

  "And you don't miss the rush of the sea?”

  She hesitated. "I should tell you that I don't miss it at all.”

  "But..." he prodded.

  "Maybe a little. I don't miss the racing. But sometimes I miss the wonder of it all, the incredible sunsets, the awesome quiet, the sense of being a part of something so much bigger than we are."

  "What don't you miss?"

  "The cold, the endless wet, the hard work, putting up the sails, taking them down, fighting the wind, then praying for the slightest breeze, feeling helpless and vulnerable."

  "What else do you miss? Or, should I ask, who?”

  "What do you mean?" A wary note entered her voice, but Tyler paid no heed.

  "Do you miss Jeremy?"

  Kate reached for her water glass and took a long sip. Tyler almost regretted his abrupt change of topic. But experience had taught him to get the interviewee comfortable then strike. Whatever answer he or she came up with wasn't as important as the reaction, and judging by Kate's reaction, Jeremy was a very important subject.

  "I ran into Sean earlier," Tyler continued. "That's why I was late."

  She raised an eyebrow. "You ran into Sean? How convenient."

  "Actually, I was looking for your father at the Oyster Bar. I found Sean instead. He told me that you and his brother Jeremy were going to be married after you came home from the race."

  Her eyes filled with shadows. "Yes, we were."

  "I'm sorry."

  "So am I."

  "Is that why you don't want to talk about the race—because Jeremy died?"

  "It's a good reason, don't you think? I won a big race, but I lost someone I loved very much. Can't you understand that I want to leave it in the past? It has been difficult to move on, but I've managed to get my life together. I don't want to go back to that place. I don't want to talk about it. I want you to drop the article idea and write about someone else. Would you do that for me?" She paused, her gaze pleading with him to let it go.

  Tyler wanted to say yes. He wanted to promise her he wouldn't hurt her. He wanted to tell her there would never be a story. But she was asking him to choose between his brother and her, and he couldn't do that.

  "Maybe you should go back to that place," he said finally. "Sometimes hindsight makes things clearer. Decisions you made can be reexamined."

  Each word he spoke seemed to draw the blood from her face until she was a pale version of herself. Why? What had he said? Was she thinking about a decision she'd made—maybe the decision to give up her baby?

  She and Jeremy had been engaged to be married. If anyone was pregnant on that boat, it was probably Kate. Jeremy had died, leaving her alone. Had she felt her life was over? Had she chosen to give away her baby rather than be tormented by
the memory of a family that could never be?

  "Is there something you wish you'd done differently?" he asked.

  For a moment he thought she might answer him, might tell him what he really wanted to know.

  Her mouth trembled slightly. Her lips parted, then closed. She got to her feet. "I don't believe in looking back. It's a waste of time. The past is the past. I'm only interested in the present."

  "Maybe someone else in your family will be more accommodating."

  "There's no story, Tyler. Let it go."

  "I can't," he said as he stood up, using his height to remind her that he was in charge of this situation.

  She frowned, throwing back her shoulders and lifting up her chin, as if that could give her a few extra inches of courage. He found the gesture strangely appealing. He liked the way she didn't back down. In fact, he was liking way too much about her. He wished they had met under different circumstances. But, then again, different circumstances would not have brought them together.

  "How much will this article pay you?" she asked abruptly.

  "That depends on how good it is."

  "What if I paid you to stop writing it? What would you say to that?"

  "I'd say you don't have enough money."

  "It can't be worth that much. A couple thousand dollars? You could leave tomorrow, earning the same amount of money for absolutely no work. It's a good offer; you should take it."

  He smiled as he gazed into her blue eyes. Innocent eyes, he realized. Eyes that expressed pain and hurt and a discomfort with the whole situation. "And you should realize," he said deliberately, "that offering a bribe to a reporter raises the curiosity level. You obviously have something to hide." He reached out and let his finger drift down the side of her face. "What on earth are you trying so hard to protect? Or maybe it's not a what. Maybe it's a who. What happened during that race, Kate? What are you so afraid I'm going to find out?"

  Chapter Eight

  He was impossible, Kate fumed, as she strode briskly away from the restaurant. She didn't bother with her car. She needed to walk off the anger and frustration building inside her. She should never have agreed to have dinner with Tyler or thought she could handle him by telling him just a little. A little would never be enough for a man like him. He was ambitious and ruthless, determined to get what he wanted.

  Why couldn't she just accept that she had absolutely no way of making stubborn, strong-willed men in her life do what she wanted them to do? Her father had certainly never caved in to her demands. Why should Tyler be any different?

  Kate stopped abruptly as three people spilled out of a local bar, stumbling across the sidewalk, obviously having tossed back a few drinks. She recognized one of them, a young man who worked in the marina office.

  "Hi, Kate," he said with a cheerful slur. "Your sister is one hell of a good singer."

  "What?" she asked, not sure she'd heard him right. He tipped his head toward the bar he'd just left. "Check it out."

  Kate stepped inside the doorway of Jake's. The room was smoky, the tables packed with tourists, and the music loud enough to demand attention. Or maybe it was the singer.

  Kate's jaw dropped at the sight of Caroline holding a microphone in her hand. Her sister was dressed in a micro-mini denim skirt, knee-high stiletto boots, and a spaghetti-strap top that barely covered her breasts. But it wasn't her looks that took Kate by surprise; it was her voice. Her sister was belting out a pop song as if she'd been doing it all her life. And she wasn't bad. In fact, she was pretty good. Apparently the crowd thought so, too, jumping into brisk applause when the song ended.

  "Thank you," Caroline said, her face aglow with excitement. "That was fun. And now more of Deke and the Devils." She waved her hand toward the band behind her, which broke into a fast beat.

  Kate watched her sister step down from the stage and move slowly through the crowd, chatting with friends and strangers alike. She seemed to laugh every other minute, as if she'd never had such a good time before. It struck her then how much her sister and her father liked the spotlight. Being the center of attention was their favorite place to be.

  Kate frowned as she saw a man approach Caroline. It was Mike Stanaway, and he was forty if he was a day, a rough, bearded man with dark eyes and a grim expression. Ashley had mentioned something about Caroline and Mike, but she'd dismissed it as a rumor. Now she wasn't so sure.

  Caroline didn't appear happy to see him. They exchanged a few words. He waved a hand toward the door, but she shook her head. After a moment, he shrugged and walked away. Caroline sat down on a bar stool, then lit up a cigarette. As she took her first puff, she saw Kate. Her smile faded, and a defensive expression swept across her face. For a moment it looked like she was going to hide the cigarette, but then she took another defiant puff, got up, and walked across the room.

  "What are you doing here?" she asked.

  "I heard you singing."

  "That was just a spur-of-the-moment thing. Deke thought it might be fun."

  "You were good."

  "I was?" Caroline asked, that familiar little sister insecurity in her voice. "Did you really think so?"

  "Yes. I can't remember when I last heard you sing. It must have been when we were on the boat."

  "Probably." Caroline paused. "Are you going to hang out?"

  "No," Kate said with a shake of her head. This wasn't her scene. It was too loud, too chaotic, too young. Her sister would think she was crazy if she said that. After all, she wasn't even thirty yet, but sometimes she felt a lot older. "You shouldn't be smoking, Caroline.”

  "You're not my mother," Caroline said for probably the thousandth time. In fact, if Kate had a dollar for every time she'd heard those words from either Ashley or Caroline, she'd be a millionaire by now.

  "It's bad for you," she persisted.

  "Maybe that's why I like it." Caroline coughed at the end of her sentence, making a mockery of her words.

  "I can see how much you like it." Kate took the cigarette out of Caroline's hand and walked over to the bar, snuffing it out in a nearby ashtray.

  "I'll just light another one."

  "We have more important problems than your smoking." Kate pulled her sister over to a quieter corner. "I just met with Tyler Jamison. He's not going to quit digging into our lives. He's been talking to Sean and God knows who else. I don't know what to do."

  Caroline looked at her in amazement. "You don't know what to do? You always know what to do."

  "I don't this time, all right?" Kate snapped. "I need some help. I need to find a way to distract him."

  "Well, that's easy. The best way to distract a man is with sex, or the possibility of sex. In fact, anything to do with sex."

  "I'm not going to have sex with him." Kate was shocked her sister would even suggest such a thing.

  "He doesn't have to know that. Flirt with him, Kate. Kiss him. Get his mind off the past and on the present and the future."

  "That's your advice? Why did I bother to ask?"

  "I have no idea why you asked, since you never take my advice. But that doesn't mean it isn't good." Caroline laughed as a young man slipped his arms around her waist and nuzzled her neck from behind.

  "When are you going to run away with me?" Curt Walker asked.

  "When you let me cut your hair," Caroline said, twisting around in his arms to give him a kiss on the cheek.

  "Kiss me on the lips, and I'll let you shave my head," Curt said.

  Caroline looked over at Kate. "See how easy it is? You ought to try it. You might even like it."

  Kate turned away as her sister gave Curt a flirtatious kiss. Everything was so simple for Caroline, so easy. She walked out of the bar, telling herself firmly there was no way she was going to kiss Tyler Jamison. It was a ridiculous idea. She didn't know why she was even thinking about it. Nor did she understand why her cheeks were suddenly warm and her heart was beating so fast. She didn't want to kiss Tyler. She couldn't want that. And even if she did, it wouldn't work
.

  Tyler wanted a story. He didn't want her. She'd have to find some other way to distract him. She waved a hand in front of her face, wishing for a cool breeze, but strangely enough there was not a speck of wind tonight. Another bad sign. She would have to be patient, wait Tyler out. He wasn't a man to stay in one place for long—wind or no wind.

  * * *

  Sunday morning had come and gone, and Tyler was getting nowhere fast. He stopped at the edge of the pier, out of breath and out of patience with himself. His run around the town had done little more than raise his pulse; it certainly hadn't brought him the peace or the answers he craved. He needed a different approach, a new plan. Kate wasn't going to tell him anything willingly. That was certainly clear. It was also clear that she was a very good candidate to be Amelia's mother. She'd been engaged to Jeremy, planning to get married, then her fiancé was killed, and she was devastated. Sounded like a good reason to give a baby away. At least the best reason he'd heard so far.

  If Kate was Amelia's mother, Mark was in trouble, because as far as he could see, Kate was a good person. She ran her own business, owned a house, took care of her family. She didn't appear to have any overt vices. She was damn near perfect.

  He scowled at the thought, knowing that he liked her much more than he should. He needed to stay objective and detached; otherwise, he would have no hope of helping his brother.

  The sound of an argument brought his head around. About fifty feet away a couple appeared to be arguing heatedly about something. The man tried to pull the woman into his arms, but she pushed him away with a small cry. Tyler tensed. There was no way he would stand by and watch some jerk hurt a woman. He moved closer, assessing the situation as he did so. The woman's back was to him, but he had a clear view of the man. He was older, forties maybe, a rough beard on his face, a tattoo on his right biceps. He was strong, muscled; a man who would be formidable in a fight.

  "I can't do this anymore," he heard the woman say.

  "You don't have a choice," the man replied, grabbing her arm once again.

  "Just let me go."