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  "Sounds like a slave driver."

  "Well, he did tell us a few stories while we were working out."

  "Stories about what?"

  "Sailing, of course. They were always tales that involved great courage, determination, physical and mental strength. They were meant to inspire us. My father taught us how to use our minds and our bodies to make things happen that seemed impossible. And that's exactly what we did when we raced, we accomplished the impossible."

  "Is that a note of admiration in your voice?”

  She sighed, wishing she could say no. "I think it might be."

  Tyler studied her thoughtfully. "You and your father have a complicated relationship, don't you?"

  "That's an understatement."

  "And no one in the family races anymore. I can't help but wonder why."

  "We lived a lifetime in those eleven months, Tyler, not to mention the two years of sailing that came before the race. It was enough."

  "That's the first time you've called me Tyler." He tilted his head. "I think I like it. Makes it seem like we're getting along."

  "Well, I wouldn't get carried away unless I start calling you Ty."

  "I'll keep that in mind. Now, how about some dinner?"

  Kate immediately shook her head. It was hard enough to get through five minutes of conversation with him. She certainly couldn't do dinner. "No."

  "Why not?"

  "I don't want to have dinner with you because, frankly, I don't want to talk to you and find my innocent statements written up in some magazine in a few months."

  "We can go off the record."

  "I'm not stupid. There is no off the record with reporters, especially not a reporter who has interviewed Fidel Castro."

  Tyler grinned. "More research?"

  "You're not hard to find on the Internet. In fact, you've led a very busy life. You don't seem to stay home much. Where is home, by the way?"

  "Now, that's the kind of question I'd be happy to answer over dinner."

  "I'm still not interested," she said quickly.

  "What if I tell you about my tattoo?"

  "I don't care about a tattoo."

  "It has a woman's name on it."

  Kate's eyes widened. She had to admit she was curious. "You actually did that? Tattooed a woman's name on your body? I hope she's still in your life."

  He shook his head. "A youthful mistake. I've made a few others, too. If you buy me a drink, I might tell you about them."

  "Buy you a drink? I don't think so. You're definitely paying."

  "Then we're going to dinner?"

  He sounded far too satisfied with the turn of the conversation. "A drink, that's all," she replied firmly.

  "All right, I guess I can find someone else to have dinner with." He paused. "Maybe I'll ask Sean."

  Sean? How did he know Sean? Not that Sean was a secret or anything. But dammit all; she didn't want Tyler talking about her family all over town. Nor did she want him talking to Sean's parents about either of their sons.

  "You don't know Sean," she said.

  "I hear he and Ashley were childhood sweethearts. In fact, he was one of the first to greet her when she got off the boat. I saw a photograph of them."

  "If that's the best you've got, I think your reputation as an investigative reporter is overrated."

  He laughed. "Point taken. Have pity on me and join me for dinner. I obviously need a face-to-face interview."

  "Fine, you win. We'll have dinner, and for every question I have to answer about my personal life, you have to do the same."

  "Deal. I'll show you my tattoo, you can show me..." His gaze traveled down her face to her chest.

  "Nothing," she interrupted, crossing her arms somewhat self-consciously. "I will be showing you nothing."

  His smile grew broader. "Too bad. So, what time can you go?"

  "An hour. The Fisherman is very good. It's at the end of Main Street. I can meet you there at six o'clock." She waved her hand toward the door. "The sooner you go, the sooner I'll be able to leave."

  He moved away from the counter, then paused. "Are you a woman that's always punctual, early even or never punctual, always late?"

  "Which would irritate you the most? Never mind. I know."

  "You don't know."

  "I do," she said with a laugh. "You're type A—intense, driven, ambitious, stubborn, and absolutely always on time. Never early, because you wouldn't want to waste a second waiting, which means a woman who takes an hour in the bathroom would drive you nuts."

  "But you're not that kind of woman," he returned. "You're the oldest child, the responsible one. You're smart, determined, protective, and you hate to fail. Being late would seem like a failure to get somewhere on time. I'll see you at six."

  She wished she could say he hadn't gotten her right at all, but that would have been a lie.

  * * *

  Tyler smiled to himself as he walked away from the store. He felt good, invigorated, and it wasn't the late afternoon breeze or the beautiful view of the harbor that made him feel alive; it was the woman he'd left behind. He couldn't remember the last time a simple conversation had given him such a charge. He just hoped Kate showed up for dinner. While he might be making a mistake in liking her, he wouldn't make the mistake of trusting her.

  His cell phone rang, and he pulled it out of his pocket, not particularly happy to see his brother's number. "Hey, what's up?"

  "That's what I want to know. What's going on?" Mark asked, impatience in his voice. "You said you'd call me today."

  "The day isn't over yet."

  "I can't stand the waiting. Just give me something, please."

  "Well, I met Ashley today," Tyler replied. "She's a very tense, uptight woman. And she carries around anti-anxiety medication in her purse. She also seems to have a fear of the water, which is odd, considering the sailing background."

  "That's something, I guess," Mark said, hope evident in his voice. "What about Kate?"

  "I'm having dinner with her tonight. I wish I could move faster, but if I tip my hand, who knows what will happen?"

  "I agree, but you can't move too slowly, Tyler. I got an e-mail from George today. He received a letter from an attorney out of Seattle by the name of Steve Watson. Mr. Watson states quite clearly that he believes George handled a private adoption in Hawaii eight years ago, and he has some questions about the way the matter was managed and the welfare of the child involved."

  "Damn. That was fast."

  "My thoughts exactly. He's already found George. How long will it take him to find me and Amelia?”

  "George won't talk."

  "But someone else might. And I'm a single, disabled father without a job. Hell, a job is the least of my worries. I can't even walk. But that doesn't matter, because I'd cut off both legs before I'd give up my daughter. You've got to help us, Tyler. You've got to find out the truth. I need to know which of the McKenna sisters is Amelia's mother."

  "I understand," Tyler said in frustration. He just wished Mark hadn't cut corners in the first place.

  Mark and Susan hadn't asked many questions when their lawyer, George Murphy, showed up with a baby girl eight years earlier. They'd been trying for a few years to adopt, and Amelia had looked like a gift from God; a gift they'd paid George Murphy very well for, Tyler thought cynically. If he'd known what his brother was up to, he would have told him to ask more questions, like why there was no signature from the birth mother giving up her rights to the child. The only reason they knew the baby belonged to one of the McKenna girls was because the baby had come with a locket, the name Nora McKenna engraved on the back, the picture inside matching the one he'd seen of Kate's mother. Nora McKenna was definitely Amelia's grandmother. Unfortunately, they still didn't know which of the sisters was Amelia's mother. Duncan had apparently given the baby to a doctor in Hawaii, who had been paid handsomely for his silence. The timing had coincided with the last stop in the race. One of the McKenna sisters had given birth to a baby du
ring that race—but, surprisingly, there was absolutely no record of that birth, no photographs of a pregnant girl onboard the boat, nothing.

  "You have to find Amelia's biological mother before she finds me," Mark added. "And once you find her, you have to find a way to discredit her. If this Ashley has prescription medication or mental issues, that could make her an unfit mother, or at least give us some ammunition.”

  "Ashley may not be the mother."

  "But she might be. Until we know for sure, we need to dig up information on each of the women. I must have something to fight with. The more dirt you can get, the better. I'll do whatever I have to do to protect Amelia."

  "So will I," Tyler promised. His niece had already lost her mother; he wouldn't let Amelia lose her father, too. They deserved to be together. No matter how they'd started out, they were a family now, and if Tyler had anything to say about it, they would stay that way.

  Chapter Six

  The family picture evolved slowly—first the father, then the mother, the son, the daughter, and finally the dog. Ashley stared at the photograph she was developing in her makeshift darkroom, which also served as the bathroom in her one-bedroom apartment. It had been a good day of work. After she'd left the marina, she'd joined the Haroldsons for their family reunion picnic at Stern Grove. She'd snapped a dozen photographs of the large clan and the individual families who had come from far and wide to spend the weekend together playing volleyball, barbecuing burgers, and laughing a lot. The Haroldsons had treated her like part of the family, and she'd enjoyed herself, too.

  Stern Grove was a forested area set deep in the center of the island—no sign of water, just tall trees, thick bushes, and plenty of flowers. It was one of Ashley's favorite spots, and one she'd photographed many times. She'd had a picnic at Stern Grove with Sean once. They must have been eleven or twelve, and their picnic fare had consisted of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, apples, and Twinkies. She smiled at the memory, wishing all her memories could be so happy and carefree.

  Although it wasn't her memories that were the problem these days; it was Sean's presence on the island. She no longer had the luxury of roaming freely without worrying about running into him. She'd already bumped into him twice in as many days. And, with race week coming up, they'd be crossing each other's paths constantly. How on earth was she going to handle him?

  The doorbell rang, and she started. What if it was Sean? Her pulse sped up at the thought. She wanted to see him almost as much as she didn't want to see him. But, if it was him, she had to answer the door; she simply could not allow him to go on thinking that she was avoiding him. It made it all seem that much more important. She just had to act casual, as if she didn't care, as if it really was over between them.

  Squaring her shoulders, she walked out of the darkroom, closing the door behind her. A quick glance at her small apartment reminded her that it was in its usual state of disarray. Her kitchen table was covered with photographs, her coffee table piled high with more of the same. She liked to think of her space as controlled chaos, but in truth it was more chaos than control. Her attention span had never been particularly long; she was known for starting one thing, getting distracted, and never coming back to it. She picked up the half-eaten sandwich she'd made for lunch and tossed it in the wastebasket as she headed for the door.

  "I'm coming," she called. She threw open the door, and her jaw dropped open in surprise, for standing in front of her was the last person she'd ever expected to see—Sean's mother, Naomi Amberson.

  Ashley stared at her in dismay. They'd shared a few brief conversations over the years, even conversed about the weather or some island happening, but they hadn't had a private discussion in years, and Ashley didn't particularly want to start now.

  "I should have called," Naomi said, holding her purse tightly in both hands. "But I need to speak to you. It's important. May I come in?"

  "Of course." Ashley stepped back as Naomi entered the room. A petite brunette, Naomi barely reached five feet. But what she lacked in height, she made up for in the sheer force of her personality. She'd always ruled the Amberson household, despite the fact that her husband and sons topped her by a good twelve inches. She knew what she wanted, and she knew how to get it. And what she wanted always had to do with her family's happiness, which made Ashley uneasy. Why did Naomi need to speak to her now?

  "Do you want to sit down? Can I get you a drink?" Ashley asked.

  Naomi shook her head. Standing stiffly in the middle of the living room, she looked as uncomfortable as Ashley felt. "I'll get right to the point. Sean has signed on to race in the Castleton. I want you to talk him out of it."

  "Me? I can't talk him out of it."

  "You're the only one who can."

  "Sean and I aren't even friends anymore. He's been gone for years. We barely know each other."

  Naomi dismissed that with a shake of her head. "Sean has been in love with you since he was twelve years old."

  "But that was a long time ago," Ashley protested, not liking the look in Naomi's eyes. "We had a teenage crush, that's it."

  "I know my son. That was never it. But we can argue about that later. Right now, I need you to focus on getting Sean out of that race." Naomi's lips drew together in a tight line. "I can't lose him, Ashley."

  "I'm sure he'll be all right," she said tentatively.

  "The only way I can be sure is if he doesn't go. If you were a mother, you'd understand how hard it is to watch your child head straight for danger. I can't let him do it. Not without trying to stop him. Will you help me?"

  Naomi's pain was so palpable Ashley could feel it coursing straight through her. But she didn't know what to say. Sean wouldn't listen to her.

  "You're my only hope," Naomi continued. "His father and I have tried. Sean seems determined to do this, as some sort of quest to retrace Jeremy's path. But I don't want him to go down that path. The sea already took one of my sons; I won't let it take another. You were out there once, Ashley. You saw how horrible it could be. You saw what the sea could do to a boat and a few men who thought they were invincible."

  Yes, she had seen all of that. In fact, she still saw it now in her dreams—in her nightmares.

  "I don't want to lose Sean. I don't want to spend the next year worrying about whether or not there's a storm blowing his way. I want him on solid ground. I want him to be safe. Please, Ashley, you have to try.” She could see the desperation in Naomi's eyes.

  "All right. I'll try," she replied. "But don't expect too much."

  * * *

  She should have been late, Kate thought as she pulled into the parking lot next to the Fisherman restaurant exactly on time. She'd wanted to make Tyler wait for her. He thought he had her pegged, and he was right, dammit. Both her watch and the clock in her car read exactly six o'clock. She was embarrassingly punctual.

  Stalling, she tilted the rearview mirror and checked her face one last time. With the blush on her cheeks, the light blue shadow on her lids, and the soft pink on her lips, she almost didn't recognize herself. Why on earth had she put on makeup for this guy? This wasn't a date. It wasn't even a friendly dinner. It was a battle. She couldn't let herself forget that, couldn't let herself get lost in a pair of incredible dark blue eyes that reminded her of the waters of the Mediterranean.

  Moving the mirror back into place, she wondered if she was doing the right thing. Just because she'd agreed to have dinner with Tyler to head him off from other sources didn't mean he wouldn't go after Sean or Ashley or Caroline tomorrow. In fact, he probably would. Which meant this dinner was a complete waste of time. Of course, if she were honest, she'd have to admit that having dinner with him appealed to her on a personal level. And, obviously, if having dinner with a reporter was appealing, she needed to get out more. She needed to work on a social life. In truth she was a little lonely. It wasn't a crime. People got lonely, especially people who'd been working nonstop the past few years.

  Maybe she'd call someone tomorrow. M
aybe Neal Davis. He'd asked her out before. And be was nice looking, not to mention responsible, decent, kind... boring. Or maybe it was just his job. There wasn't a lot of excitement in the accounting field. But he did a heck of a job on her books.

  No, not Neal. Dating someone who knew her finances wasn't a good idea. Maybe Connor O'Brien, one of the bartenders at the Oyster Bar. No, she couldn't date a bartender. Besides, Connor knew her father and had heard many stories about her. How embarrassing would that be?

  Maybe dating an out-of-town stranger was a good idea. Someone who wouldn't be around forever. Not that she was dating Tyler Jamison. Good heavens, where was her mind going?

  Kate banged her head gently against the steering wheel, hoping to knock some sense into herself. She was attracted to Tyler, no doubt about it. But she didn't want to be attracted, didn't want little shivers running down her spine. They reminded her of the past, of feelings she didn't want to feel again. Love hurt. It was an irrefutable, inescapable fact of life. She knew that without a doubt. But she also knew that someday she would have to try again, that she wanted the things that came with love, like marriage and children. She just had to find the right man, one who didn't sail into the wind, didn't lead with his heart, didn't do anything remotely dangerous or risky.

  Someone who wasn't anything like Jeremy.

  Eight years had passed, and Jeremy still had a grip on her heart. It was funny, in an odd way, because Jeremy had never been possessive. He'd been too busy leading his own life to worry about what she was doing, who she was seeing. He'd trusted in their love, figured it would always be there.

  Even when her father had taken her to sea, Jeremy had assured her that they'd still be together when she got back. He hadn't worried about anything. He had taken life as it came, and he'd lived every minute of it. He wouldn't want her wasting her time like this. He'd want her to move on. In fact, he was probably looking down on her right now, tilting his head to the right the way he'd always done when her behavior confused him, muttering, "Katie, what are you thinking? Life is going to pass you by while you're making all your plans."