Книга - The Masked Man

The Masked Man
B.J. Daniels


A MAN SHE'D NEVER SEEN…His face was concealed by a mask…yet piercing blue eyes inexorably drew Jill Lawson into his arms. What came over her, she'd never know–but a case of mistaken identity landed her in more than a little hot water, because now she was being framed for murder. Not to mention she'd made mad, passionate love with a stranger!A KISS SHE'D NEVER FORGET!Trying to establish her innocence proved a lot harder than Jill imagined, especially when she was so distracted by the memory of the mystery man's kisses–kisses that were suspiciously similar to investigator Mac Cooper's. But was Mac set up, just as Jill was? In a race against time and a cunning adversary, could Mac and Jill unmask the real killer before it was too late…?









His arm snaked around her waist and he dragged her to him, his mouth dropping to hers


She’d never been kissed like this before. It was so unlike her fiancé. Overnight it seemed as if his body had changed. He was so muscular, so solid. How could this be? she wondered to herself.

The darkness was so intense she couldn’t see his features, could only feel him, the unfamiliar hardness of his body. She tried to push him away, but he only deepened the kiss, holding her to him as if he never wanted to let her go, as if he’d been waiting for her, needing her. Suddenly he seemed so different….

She lost herself in his kiss, stirred by an intensity she’d never felt before at his unexpected ardor. It was as if they’d never touched before….

And then she knew.

He was someone else….




The Masked Man

B.J. Daniels





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




ABOUT THE AUTHOR


B.J. Daniels sets her latest book in the backwoods of Montana, a place she knows well. She’s lived in Montana since she was five, when her family moved to a cabin her father built in the Gallatin Canyon.

A former award-winning journalist, B.J. had thirty-six short stories published before she wrote and sold her first romantic suspense, Odd Man Out, which was later nominated for the Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice Award for Best First Book and Best Harlequin Intrigue.

B.J. lives in Bozeman with her husband, Parker, two springer spaniels, Zoey and Scout, and an irascible tomcat named Jeff. She is a member of the Bozeman Writers Group and Romance Writers of America. To contact her, write: P.O. Box 183, Bozeman, MT59771.










CAST OF CHARACTERS


Jill Lawson—The owner of The Best Buns in Town bakery expects her fiancé to be waiting for her in the dark cottage the night of the masquerade party. Instead, she finds a masked man who fulfills her fantasies—and makes her a suspect in a murder.

MacKenzie Cooper—The private investigator is lured into more than murder….

Trevor Forester—He wants it all, including Inspiration Island and Jill Lawson—and he has lied, cheated and stolen to get them. No wonder someone wants him dead.

Nathaniel Pierce—He has everything money can buy—and then some. But when his most prized possessions are stolen, he will do anything to get them back.

Heddy and Alistair Forester—They thought they were doing the right thing, raising their son Trevor to appreciate the finer things in life.

Rachel Wells—She was finally going to get what she deserved.

Shane Ramsey—Mac’s nephew has always gotten into trouble, but this time he’s in way over his head.

Arnie Evans—Trevor Forester’s best friend did whatever Trevor told him to. Now he’s paying the price.


This book is for Travis Ness,

who came into our lives on a prayer—and now believes in love at first sight. Montana born, he loves our annual summer weekend at Flathead Lake. He also loves my daughter, and we love him.




Contents


Prologue

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

Epilogue




Prologue


He picked her up in his headlights as he came around the curve. She stood beside the narrow lake road, thumb out. He slowed to make sure before he stopped, but his blood was already pounding.

Yes. Long blond hair, sun-kissed bare limbs, sixteen, seventeen tops. She wore a pink T-shirt that hugged her small breasts and navy shorts that exposed slim, coltish legs and, as he stopped the car beside her, he saw that she had The Look.

He was a sucker for The Look. That cool, confident conviction that her life was only just beginning, that she would live forever, that nothing would harm her. It was a look that came only with youth.

“Hey,” he said as he rolled down the passenger-side window and leaned over to smile at her. “Where ya headed?”

She stepped closer, bending at the waist to look in at him. “Bigfork?”

Her sweet scent rushed in with the warm summer night. Raspberry, he thought, one of his favorites. She hooked a hand over the open window frame. Her fingernails were painted a pale pink. He really liked that. On her slim, tanned wrist a tiny silver charm bracelet with a perfect little silver heart tinkled softly.

He could hardly contain himself. “Hop in, I’m going that way. You must be in Bigfork working for the summer.” He didn’t want to make the mistake of trying to pick up a local girl again.

She nodded, stepped closer.

It always came down to a few crucial seconds.

She glanced at his car, then at him again.

In her blue eyes he saw that instant of uncertainty that could save—or destroy—her.

Seconds. Life or death. He loved this part.

“Thanks,” she said and reached for the door handle. Ain’t no big, bad wolf here.

He smiled. All teeth.




Chapter One


Jill Lawson couldn’t believe it.

Trevor had stood her up again. Only this time it was for his parents’ anniversary masquerade party. This time she was dressed as Scarlett O’Hara and feeling foolish as she waited in a far wing of the house, alone. This time was going to be the last time.

“I can’t marry this man. I’m breaking off the engagement.” The words echoed in the dark, empty room. “Tonight.”

She watched the approaching thunderstorm move across the lake and waited for the aftershock of her decision. She had expected to feel something other than…relief. Certainly more regret.

She didn’t.

This far down the east wing of the Foresters’ massive lake house the sounds of the ongoing party were muted. That was one of the reasons she had come down here. To get away from all the merriment and the reminder that she was alone, the engagement ring on her finger feeling suddenly too tight. The ache in her heart too familiar.

She ached for something she wasn’t even sure existed except maybe in the movies.

“You act like you expect fireworks, maybe the earth to move? Really, Jill, you are such a fool,” Trevor had said when she’d tried to voice her concerns the last time she’d seen him.

Well, she certainly felt like a fool tonight, she thought. She had hardly seen Trevor since he’d asked her to marry him, but when he’d called, he’d promised that tonight would be different. After all, it was his parents’ thirty-fifth anniversary, and summer was almost over, another season gone.

Heddy and Alistair threw a costume party to celebrate the event at the end of August every year at their house on the east shore of Flathead Lake. This year the theme was famous lovers, and Trevor had insisted Jill come as Scarlett so he could be Rhett Butler. And he’d stood her up.

“Quite frankly, Rhett, I don’t give a damn,” she said to the dark room. A lie. She did give a damn. She had wanted Trevor Forester to be The One. And at first, he’d made her believe he was.

She looked down at the silver charm bracelet on her wrist, the tiny heart dangling from the chain, and remembered the night he’d given it to her. On her birthday two months ago. It was right after that when he’d asked her to marry him and had given her the antique engagement ring now on her finger.

Her instincts warned her that everything between her and Trevor had happened too fast. She’d let him bowl her over, not giving her time to think. Or hardly react. And suddenly she was engaged to a man she didn’t really know.

He’d been involved in his construction project, an upscale resort he called Inspiration Island south of Bigfork, Montana, in the middle of Flathead Lake, almost since they’d started dating.

Admittedly, he had been working a lot. A week ago he’d stopped by her bakery and she’d barely recognized him. He was tanned, leaner, more muscular.

She felt herself weaken a little at the memory of how good he’d looked and quickly was reminded that he had only made love to her once, soon after the engagement. In the weeks since, he always had an excuse—he was too tired or had to meet one of the investors or had to get back to the island.

“Everything will be different once we’re married,” he’d promised.

“Right,” she said to the dark. She didn’t believe that. Didn’t believe anything Trevor told her anymore. “We’re never going to know if things will be different because I’m not marrying you, Trevor Forester.” She spun around in surprise. Someone had come into the dark room without her realizing it. How long had he or she been there, listening?

A small table lamp came on, blinding her for an instant. She thought at first the other person was Trevor and she would get this over with quickly. This quiet wing of the house would serve her purpose well.

But it wasn’t Trevor. “I heard you mention my son’s name,” Heddy Forester said. She was dressed as Cleopatra. Her Anthony, Alistair Forester, didn’t seem to be with her.

Obviously Heddy had heard her. But Jill didn’t want to spoil Heddy’s anniversary party. The older woman would hear soon enough about the broken engagement. Then again, maybe Heddy wouldn’t be that disappointed by the news.

“I’m just upset because Trevor is so late,” Jill said.

“I’m sure he has a good reason.” Heddy always defended her only offspring. “He’s been working such long hours on the island.”

“Yes, but I thought he’d call,” Jill said, trying not to show just how upset she really was. Heddy Forester didn’t miss much, though.

“Maybe he can’t get to a phone,” Heddy offered, studying her. The sound of music, chattering guests and fireworks going off drifted in from the patio. There must have been at least a hundred people at the party.

Jill thought about mentioning that Trevor had a cell phone with him all the time, but didn’t. “I’m sure he’ll be along soon,” she said diplomatically. In the distance thunder rumbled, the horizon over the lake dark and ominous.

“Or maybe he’s trapped on the island and can’t get back,” Heddy suggested, looking anxiously out the window at the storm brewing over the water. “I’ll bet his cell phone won’t work in a storm like this.”

“I thought Trevor wasn’t going to the island today.”

Heddy didn’t seem to hear. “I’d better get my guests in before the storm hits. Send Trevor to find me when he arrives.”

Jill nodded. Heddy was right. Trevor wouldn’t miss his parents’ anniversary party. He had to have a good reason for being this late. For standing Jill up. Again.

After Heddy left, Jill turned the light back off, preferring to watch the approaching storm in the dark, preferring to let Trevor find her. She loved thunderstorms, the dramatic light, the awesome power, the smell of the rain-washed summer evening afterward.

She didn’t know how long she stood there, watching all the guests rush in as the storm moved across the water toward them, the darkness complete. Down the slope from the house, the wind tore leaves from the trees and sent waves splashing over the docks. Jill caught the flicker of boat lights on the other side of the Foresters’ small guest cottage at the edge of the lake and wondered what fool would go out in a storm like this.

Speaking of fools… She glanced at her watch. Eight-fifteen. Trevor was almost two hours late. Thunder rumbled in the distance. The red-white-and-blue flags snapped in the wind out on the patio under a flapping striped canopy. The patio was empty, everyone now inside as lightning flashed and thunder rumbled. She should go home before it started to rain.

She could break off the engagement tomorrow. Tomorrow, when she was less angry. Tomorrow, when she wasn’t dressed in a hoop skirt and green-velvet curtain material. Why had Trevor insisted they come to the party as Rhett Butler and Scarlett O’Hara, anyway? Hadn’t Scarlett ended up alone?

Then again, maybe this was the perfect costume.

“Say good-night, Scarlett,” she said to the room and started to turn from the window. A jagged bolt of lightning flashed, spiking down into the water, illuminating the patio and the curve of rock steps that swept down the grassy slope to the lake cottage. And in that flash of light she saw him.

Rhett Butler. He ducked into the cottage just an instant before thunder rumbled overhead. The first raindrops spattered the window. Trevor must have been on the boat she’d seen and now he’d gone into the cottage to wait out the storm.

When the lights didn’t come on inside the cottage, she realized the shutters were closed. Trevor was alone down there, offering her the perfect opportunity to talk to him. This couldn’t wait. She suspected he’d been avoiding her because he, too, thought their engagement was a mistake. He couldn’t avoid her now.

She braced herself, then opened the patio door, lifted the hoop skirt with one hand and, holding on to her hat with the other, raced across the patio to the rock steps that descended to the cottage.

Behind her, the wind moaned through the trees, sending leaves scurrying. Snatches of the music from the party chased after her but were quickly drowned out by the crash of waves. Lightning struck so close it raised the tiny hairs on the back of her neck. As she ran toward the cottage, rain slashed down, hard as hail and just as cold. Thunder boomed, deafening.

She was close enough to the water now that she could feel the spray from the waves. Her hand was on the doorknob when lightning electrified the sky overhead once more. This time the thunderclap reverberated in her chest.

The lights on the patio blinked out and behind her the main house went dark. She opened the cottage door, the room inside as black as the bottom of a bucket. Chilled, wet and a little disoriented by the darkness, she stepped in and quickly closed the door behind her.

Her lips parted as she started to say Trevor’s name, sensing, rather than hearing, him near her.

Before she could get his name out, his arm snaked around her waist and he dragged her to him, his mouth unerringly dropping to hers.

She gasped in surprise and pushed with both palms against his broad chest, the darkness so intense she couldn’t see his features, could only feel him, the unfamiliar Rhett Butler costume mustache, the unfamiliar hardness of his body. Had he seen her coming down from the house and thought he could make things up to her by taking her to bed? Fat chance.

She tried to push him away, but he only deepened the kiss, holding her to him as if he never wanted to let her go, as if he’d been waiting for her, needing her.

This wasn’t why she’d come down here. Or was it? Had she secretly hoped Trevor could change her mind?

He groaned against her mouth and she felt herself weaken in his arms. He’d never kissed her like this before. His body was so muscular, so solid, harder than it had been the last time they’d made love.

If this was his way of saying he was sorry… She lost herself in his kiss, in the warmth of his body molded to hers, stirred in a way she’d never been before by this unexpected ardor.

Her hat fell to the floor as he buried his fingers in her hair and pressed her against the wall with his body, his mouth exploring hers as his hand moved up her waist and over her rib cage to cup her breast in his warm palm. Heat shot through her.

She had never wanted him so badly. Her body felt on fire as he moved his hands over her, exploring her flesh with his fingertips in the blind darkness. She arched against him, strangely uninhibited. There was something exciting about not being able to see each other, only feel. It was as if they’d never touched before as his fingers explored beneath the confines of her costume.

His touch sure and strong, he swiftly and efficiently relieved her of her clothing, the hoop skirt, the entire dress, leaving only her skimpy silk panties and bra.

Outside the warm cottage the storm raged. She sighed with pleasure against his mouth, his lips never leaving hers as if he’d feared what she might have said if he hadn’t kissed her the moment she came into the cottage. Had he realized how abandoned and alone she’d been feeling? How afraid she was that they were about to make a mistake by marrying?

She’d never felt more naked as his fingers skimmed over her skin, stopping to fondle her through the thin silk of her underthings. Hadn’t she, in fact, worn the sexy lingerie hoping things would be different between them tonight, just as Trevor had promised?

She worked feverishly at the buttons of his costume, his kisses growing more ardent, more demanding, her need becoming more frantic as she worked with wanton abandon to free him of his clothing. His need matched hers as he relieved her of her bra and panties and helped discard his own clothing, and all the time, never stopped kissing her.

She shuddered at the first touch of his naked skin against hers, heard his soft groan as he dragged her down to the floor, their lovemaking as wild and frenzied as the storm outside.

He took her higher than she’d ever been, a rarefied place depleted of oxygen, where stars blinded her vision and each breath seemed her last until the final crescendo of storm and passion and release, sending her reeling into a dark, infinite universe of pleasure.

She felt tears come to her eyes as he curled her to him on the floor, spooning her into his warmth, spent and seemingly as awed as she.

She snuggled close, content for the first time in her life. She knew there was no going back. She’d just committed to this man in a way more binding than any engagement ring or pronouncement of love. She’d been so wrong about him. So wrong about them.

She closed her eyes, her skin still tingling, her heart still hammering like the rain on the roof. She didn’t hear the door open.

A chill wind blew in, rippling over her skin. At the same moment she opened her eyes, a flash of lightning lit the outside world, illuminating the driving rain—and the dark figure silhouetted in the doorway.

So content, so sated, so happy was Jill that it took her a moment to recognize the familiar silhouette in the doorway. The hat, the hair, the hoop skirt. Another Scarlett. It took even longer for the words the other Scarlett spoke to register. “Trevor, darling, I’m sorry I’m late but I—”

In that instant Jill saw the other Scarlett take in the hurriedly discarded costumes on the floor, her head coming up to look where Jill lay on the floor in Trevor’s arms in that instant before the lightning flash blinked out, pitching everything back into blackness.

“You bastard!” the woman shrieked. “You lousy—” A boom of thunder drowned out the rest as she whirled away.

For just an instant Jill didn’t move. Then the truth hit her. A cry caught in her throat as she jerked free of Trevor’s arms, recoiling in shame. She stumbled to her feet and grabbed at the pile of clothing she’d seen in that flash of light, that flash of understanding—Trevor had thought he was making love to someone else! The other Scarlett. No wonder it had been so passionate! So amazingly tender and loving and filled with desire!

Behind her, he still hadn’t said a word. But she could feel him watching her. Wasn’t he even going to bother to try to talk himself out of this?

It was too dark inside the cottage to find her skimpy underwear. With her back to him, she dressed with only one thing in mind—getting out of there as quickly as possible. She pulled on the hoop, frantically tied it and slipped the damp dress over her head, then felt around for her shoes in the dark, wanting nothing more than to flee before he tried to apologize, which would make it all so much worse.

On the way to the door she tripped on her hat, which she then swept up from the floor. Fighting tears of humiliation and anger, she tugged off the engagement ring.

She was grateful for the darkness in the cottage. From the doorway she didn’t have to see his face, only the dark shape of him on the floor. He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t said a word. But then, what could he say?

“You are a lousy bastard, Trevor Forester,” she said, and flung the engagement ring at him before rushing out.

Fool that she was, she expected to hear him call after her. She thought she heard him groan, but it could have been the wind.

She lifted the wet velvet hem of the dress and, her shoes still in her hand, ran up the hillside, avoiding the main house, afraid to look back for fear she would see Trevor standing in the doorway of the cottage—and feel something other than hatred for him.

She didn’t let herself cry until she was in her van driving back to her apartment over the bakery. Tears scalded her eyes, blurring her vision as the windshield wipers clacked back and forth against the pounding rain.

She could still smell him on her, still feel his touch as if it was imprinted on her skin, still taste his kisses. Damn Trevor Forester. Damn him to hell.

Rain fell in a torrent. Jill barely recognized the little red Saturn sedan that almost ran her off the road as it came up from behind and whizzed past, going too fast for the narrow, winding road along the lakeshore. But in her headlights she read the personalized license plate: JILLS. It was her car, the car Trevor had borrowed the last time she’d seen him, saying his Audi Quatro sports car was in the shop. Since then, Jill had been driving her bakery delivery van with The Best Buns In Town painted on the side.

The driver went by so fast that Jill hadn’t seen who was behind the wheel. Trevor? Or had he loaned her car to his girlfriend? Or were they both in the car?

And Jill thought she was angry with Trevor before!

She pushed the van’s gas pedal of the van to the floor, trying to close the distance between her and the red Saturn. Was Trevor hoping to beat her back to her apartment? Beg her forgiveness? Or trying to get away? He had to have recognized the van. It was darned hard to miss.

Jill kept the Saturn’s taillights in sight as she raced after it, the van forced to take the curves more slowly. The narrow road was cut into the side of the mountain. In some places, the land beneath the road dropped in rocky cliffs to the water. In others, cherry orchards clung to the steep hillside for miles, broken only by tall dense pines and rock.

On the outskirts of Bigfork, Montana, the Saturn turned right into a new complex, where Trevor had rented a condo until he and Jill were married. At least that had been the plan. He had said he was going to buy her a house on the lake. He didn’t want them living in some dinky condo.

As Jill parked the van behind her car in front of the condo, she told herself she should just take the car and leave. As angry as she was, this wouldn’t be a good time for a confrontation—with Trevor or his girlfriend.

But then, how would she get the van back to the bakery? She’d need it early in the morning to make deliveries.

Also, she would never know who’d been driving her car. And suddenly she had a whole lot she wanted to say to Trevor. Or his girlfriend. Or both.

She got out of the van in the cumbersome costume. The front door of the condo stood open, a faint light on inside. Whoever had gone in must have been in a big hurry.

It was dark inside the condo. She could hear what sounded like someone rummaging around in the bedroom. The only light spilled from the partially opened bedroom doorway. From this angle, Jill could see nothing but shadowed movement on one wall and the flicker of what had to be a flashlight beam.

Her heart caught in her throat. Why hadn’t the person in the bedroom turned on the lights? And why would Trevor be searching for something in his own bedroom in the dark?

The other Scarlett?

Jill moved through the dark living room following the path of light coming from the bedroom and caught the scent of the woman’s perfume. She realized she’d smelled it earlier—that moment when the other Scarlett had been framed in the lake cottage doorway. A heavy, cloying scent that made her sick to her stomach.

Trevor had never been much of a housekeeper, but this place looked as if it had been ransacked. As she tried to step around the mess on the floor, the hem of her dress caught on a pile of books dumped on the floor. One of the books tumbled off the top of the heap and thumped to the floor.

The sound of rummaging in the bedroom stopped. The flashlight beam blinked out.

In the blinding darkness, Jill felt on the wall for the light switch and flipped it on. Nothing happened. Had Trevor forgotten to pay his light bill or—

A figure came barreling out of the bedroom. Jill tried to get out of the way, hearing the movement rather than seeing the person in the dark. She felt an object strike her hard on the head. Her knees buckled.

As she dropped to the floor, she heard the retreating footfalls, then the sound of her car engine and the squeal of rubber tires on the wet pavement.

Dazed, she stumbled to her feet and moved to the open doorway. Her car was gone. So was the driver. She turned toward the bedroom and the scent of the woman’s perfume that still hung in the air.

What had the woman been looking for? And had she found it?

Jill felt her way in the dark to the bedroom door, remembering the candle she’d bought Trevor as a housewarming present. She stumbled through the mess on the floor to the nightstand beside his bed and felt around for the candle. The light from an outside yard lamp shone through the thin bedroom curtains. She could make out something large and looming on the bed.

She found the candle and matches. Striking a match, she touched it to the wick. The light flickered, illuminating the small room.

An open suitcase lay on the bed, piled high with Trevor’s clothing. The closet doors stood open, the hangers empty. The same with the dresser drawers.

Like the living room, the bedroom appeared to have been ransacked. Or Trevor had obviously packed in a hurry. His clothes in the suitcase were a jumble. It was obvious that the other Scarlet had been looking for something in the suitcase.

Holding the candle up for better illumination, Jill took a step toward the suitcase. Her shoe kicked a balled-up sheet of paper on the floor at her feet. She bent down and picked it up. Smoothing the paper, she held it to the candlelight. It was an eviction notice. Trevor was four months behind in his rent? How was that possible? Even if he’d put all his money into the island development, his parents were wealthy. She realized that if he hadn’t paid his rent, he probably hadn’t paid his electricity bill, either.

Head aching, she looked into the suitcase, still wondering what the woman had been searching for. Jill picked up one of Trevor’s shirts. An airline-ticket folder fell to the bed.

She lifted it carefully, afraid of what she was going to find. Inside was Trevor’s passport and a one-way ticket on a flight out of Kalispell tonight, final destination: Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.

Brazil? Trevor hadn’t just been planning to run out on his rent and his electricity bill. He’d been running out on her, as well. When had he planned to tell her? At the party? And what about the other Scarlett?

Jill leafed through the folder until she found the receipt from the travel agent. Her hand began to tremble. Trevor had purchased two tickets on a credit card. One for himself. The other for his wife. The name on the other ticket was Rachel Forester.

The other Scarlett? Is that what she’d taken from the suitcase—her ticket?

Jill leaned against the bed frame, feeling dizzy and sick. Trevor had been planning to marry someone named Rachel tonight and run off with her to Brazil? It was unbelievable. She thought she couldn’t despise him more than she already did. She was wrong.

As she started to put the ticket back into the suitcase, she noticed the credit-card number on the receipt for the tickets. “Trevor, you really are a lousy bastard.” He’d used Jill’s credit card to buy the tickets for himself and his secret new bride.

Reeling, Jill stumbled out of the condo. Her head throbbed, and when she touched the bump on her forehead, her fingers came away sticky with blood.

All she wanted to do was go home and forget this day had ever happened. Forget Trevor. Too bad she couldn’t forget what had happened between them in the cottage—before the other Scarlett had shown up.

As she drove downtown to her apartment over the bakery she owned, she told herself this night couldn’t get any worse. But as she passed the bakery, she saw the sheriff’s deputy car parked across the street. Two deputies got out as she parked the van out front rather than continue on around to the back entrance to the upstairs apartment.

She stood paralyzed with worry on the sidewalk as they approached, afraid it had something to do with her father. Gary Lawson hadn’t been well enough to attend the party tonight. He’d said it was only the flu—

“Jill Lawson?” the taller of the deputies asked, the one whose name tag read James Samuelson. “Sorry to bother you so late. May we come in and have a word with you?”

She nodded dumbly and swallowed, her throat constricting, as she shakily unlocked the door to the bakery and let them in.

“We’re here about Trevor Forester,” the shorter, stouter of the two said. He introduced himself as Rex Duncan. He took out a small notebook and pen.

She stared at the deputy. “Is Trevor in some kind of trouble?” Understatement of the year.

She could feel Samuelson studying her face. Past him, she caught her reflection in the front window. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, and the bump on her forehead was now bruised and caked with blood around the small cut where she’d been hit.

“When was the last time you saw him?” Samuelson asked.

“Tonight. At the party.” She saw the deputies exchange a look.

“Tonight? What time was that?” Duncan asked.

“About eight-fifteen.”

“You’re sure you saw him?” Samuelson said.

“I was with him until about…nine-thirty, then I left. Has something happened?”

The deputies exchanged another look.

“Please tell me what this is about,” she said. “You’re scaring me.”

“Ms. Lawson, you couldn’t have been with Trevor Forester tonight at the party,” Samuelson said. “Mr. Forester was murdered during the time you say you were with him at another location. I think you’d better tell us why you’d make up such a story.”




Chapter Two


As the woman stormed out of the lake cottage, Mackenzie Cooper pushed himself up from the floor on one elbow and groaned.

“Who the hell was that?” he asked the darkness, still stunned by what had happened between them.

Silently he cursed himself. When she’d come into the cottage while he was spying on the boat just off the shore, he’d kissed her, only planning to shut her up and keep her from giving him away. But one thing had led to another so quickly…

Damn. What had he been thinking? That was just it. He hadn’t been thinking.

He felt dazed as he checked his watch. Nine-forty. He’d completely lost track of the time. Completely lost track of everything. Especially his senses.

He quickly dressed, changing enough of the costume so that he wouldn’t be recognized as Rhett Butler. The last thing he wanted to do was run into either of the Scarlett O’Haras again tonight. In the mood they were in it could be dangerous. Another reason to hightail it out of here as fast as possible.

It was obvious the man he was supposed to meet here had stood him up. Which, all things considered, was just as well.

But first, Mac had to know what the woman had thrown at him. Using the penlight he’d brought with him, he shone it around on the floor.

Something in the corner glittered in the light and he bent to pick it up. A diamond ring. The stone was a nice size, the setting obviously old. He pocketed the ring and started to leave, but spotted something else on the floor in the beam of the penlight.

It appeared to be a scrap of black fabric. He picked up the skimpy, sexy panties. Silk. Her scent filled his nostrils, momentarily paralyzing him with total recall of the woman he’d had in his arms tonight.

Suddenly he wished he could have seen her in these. But his tactile memory flashed on an image of her that was now branded on his mouth, his hands, his body and his brain.

It seemed the woman had thought he was Trevor Forester—her fiancé. At least he had been her fiancé until the other Scarlett O’Hara had shown up.

He swore again, realizing the magnitude of what he’d done. He’d just made love to the last woman on earth he should have!

Not wanting to leave any evidence, he pocketed the panties along with the ring, then moved to the cottage door to make sure the coast was clear. It was time to get out of here. He’d gotten more than he’d come for. And then some.



TREVOR DEAD? Murdered? Jill staggered, her legs suddenly unable to hold her.

Deputy Rex Duncan pulled out a chair for her at one of the small round serving tables at the front of her bakery and helped her into it. He then drew up seats across from her for him and Samuelson, who pulled a small tape recorder from his pocket, set it on the table, and clicked it on.

“There must be some mistake,” she said, looking from one to the other of them.

“There is no mistake,” Samuelson said. “That’s why we’re confused. Why would you say you were with Trevor Forester tonight at the party? Unless for some reason you think you need an alibi.”

She stared at him, stunned. “An alibi? I was with Trevor in the lake cottage during the time I told you.” She looked from Samuelson to Duncan.

Duncan shook his head.

She felt the blood leave her head. If she hadn’t been in the cottage with Trevor… Oh, my God.

“Why don’t you start at the beginning?” Duncan suggested as he handed her a napkin from the dispenser on the table. “You arrived at the party at what time?”

She took the napkin and wiped her eyes, panic making her hands shake. “About seven-thirty.”

“Alone?” Duncan asked.

She nodded. “I thought Trevor would meet me at the party since he was running so late.”

“Trevor Forester was your fiancé?” Deputy Samuelson asked.

She nodded, then glanced down at her ringless finger, the white mark on her lightly tanned skin where the diamond engagement ring had been. The deputies followed her gaze. She quickly covered her hand.

“I think you’d better tell us what happened tonight,” Samuelson said. “It’s obvious you’ve been crying. How did you get that bump on your head?”

She looked up at him, then at Deputy Duncan, and fought to swallow back the dam of tears that threatened to break loose. Trevor dead. Murdered. And the man in the cottage who’d been dressed like Rhett Butler…?

“The truth, Ms. Lawson. You weren’t with Trevor Forester tonight at the party. So where were you?” Samuelson asked impatiently.

“I thought I was with Trevor,” she cried, and saw them exchange another look. “I know this will sound crazy…”

“Believe me, we’ve heard it all,” Duncan said, not unkindly. “Just tell us what happened.”

She took a breath. “Trevor was supposed to pick me up for the party at six-thirty,” she began. “We were going as Rhett Butler and Scarlett O’Hara.” Jill told them how she’d gone alone to the Foresters at seven-thirty, waited for him in a room off the far wing until she’d seen the man she believed to be Trevor dressed as Rhett Butler duck into the lake cottage at eight-fifteen. She’d just looked at her watch—that was why she remembered the time. “It was just before the electricity went out.”

Duncan nodded. “A transformer blew on that side of the lake about then. The man you saw, he had on a mask?”

She nodded and realized she’d only gotten a glimpse as he’d gone into the cottage. Just an impression of Rhett Butler.

“So you went down to the cottage in a downpour to see him?” Samuelson asked. “Why not wait until the storm let up? Or he came up to the party?”

“I wanted to speak with Trevor alone first.”

Samuelson raised an eyebrow. “About what? I see you aren’t wearing your engagement ring.”

“The truth is, I had planned to break off our engagement,” she admitted, wondering if they’d already found her engagement ring in the cottage. She assumed they’d already talked with Heddy and Alistair. Had Heddy told the deputies how upset Jill had been? That she’d planned to break the engagement?

“Why break up?” Samuelson asked, eyeing her closely.

She shook her head, not knowing where to begin. “I had hardly seen Trevor lately, and I just felt that we shouldn’t be getting married.”

“You said had planned to break off your engagement. Did something change your mind?” Duncan asked.

“Actually, Trevor did—at first. Or at least the man I thought was Trevor.” She could see the deputies’ skepticism. She hurriedly told them how the electricity had gone out, how in the darkness the man she thought was Trevor had grabbed her, kissed her, seduced her—all without a word spoken between them.

She dropped her gaze to her hands, clasped in her lap, for a moment, the shame and humiliation almost getting the better of her as she thought of what she’d done with a stranger. She had opened herself up to him. At the time she’d thought it was the darkness that had let her put all her inhibitions aside and make love as she’d never made love before—completely.

When she looked up, she saw they didn’t believe a word she’d said. “It’s true! I can prove it. Someone saw us together. A woman.” She groaned silently, mortified to have to tell them.

“What woman?” Duncan asked.

Jill looked at him and realized she didn’t have a clue who the woman was. Reluctantly she explained how it seemed Trevor had planned to meet, not her, but the other Scarlett in the cottage. “The woman saw us, became angry and left.”

“I thought it was dark inside the cottage?” Samuelson said.

“It was, but there was a flash of lightning as she opened the door,” Jill said.

“You didn’t see the man in this flash of lightning?” he asked incredulously.

She shook her head, remembering how he’d spooned her against him, the gentle way he’d nuzzled the nape of her neck, his breath on her bare, hot skin… “I was facing the door and he was…behind me.”

“What did you do after this woman interrupted the two of you?” Duncan asked.

“I realized Trevor—” she heard her voice break “—I mean, the man I thought was Trevor…had just made love to the wrong woman. I hurriedly dressed, threw the engagement ring at him and left.”

“You never saw his face?” Duncan asked.

She shook her head.

“You must have been furious,” Samuelson said.

“I was hurt.” She dropped her gaze, remembering the depth of that hurt because of what they had just shared.

“Did you tell anyone about this?” Duncan asked.

“No. I left by the side yard. I was upset. I certainly didn’t want to talk about it.” She saw the way they were both looking at her and added, “I think the woman’s name might be Rachel, but you’ll have to catch her tonight before she gets on a plane for Brazil.”

Samuelson raised a brow. “Why would you think that?”

Jill told them about almost being run off the road by her own red Saturn and how she’d followed it, thinking at first that Trevor was driving the car, since he was the one who’d borrowed it the last time she saw him.

“The front door was open. Someone was in the bedroom, rummaging around, using a flashlight,” she continued. She told them how the person had come flying out, hit her and left in her car. “I caught a whiff of the same perfume I had smelled when the woman opened the door to the cottage.”

“So you think it was the same woman,” Duncan said.

“Was she still wearing her costume?” Samuelson asked.

Now that Jill thought about it… “No. She must have had a change of clothing with her.” Maybe her traveling wedding suit since, if she was Rachel, she and Trevor were headed for a justice of the peace and a plane, it seemed. “If you’ve been to his condo, you know that Trevor was running away tonight with a woman named Rachel.” Their poker faces told her nothing.

“We’ll try to find your car,” Duncan offered. “And this woman.” His tone implied, If she exists.

“Thank you.”

Samuelson was shaking his head. “Come on, Ms. Lawson, how could you have made love with a man and not realized he wasn’t your fiancé?”

Her face flamed with embarrassment. “Trevor and I had only been…intimate once.” She thought of the differences, not just in the lovemaking but in the man’s body. She’d believed it was because Trevor had been doing manual labor for the past few months. He was so much more muscular. Stronger. More…forceful. He’d lost some weight and was leaner—just like when she’d seen him recently. And he’d promised her that tonight would be different. Oh, and it had been, she thought, fiddling nervously with the silver charm bracelet at her wrist.

“Heddy Forester says when she saw you at about seven-forty-five, you were very upset with Trevor,” Samuelson said. “She says she thought you left right after that. You have keys to the Foresters’ boats, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“In a ski boat, it takes how long—ten, fifteen minutes?—to get down the lake to the island,” he asked.

She stared at him. “Trevor was killed on the island?” What was he saying? That she would have had plenty of time to get to the island, kill Trevor and return to the party—and the cottage. “I told you—”

“Yes, you told us,” Samuelson interrupted. “You were in the cottage. Then how do you explain the fact that Heddy Forester saw you get out of a boat at the dock just a little before nine-thirty?”

“It wasn’t me. It must have been the woman I told you about, the one who was also dressed as Scarlett O’Hara.”

It was clear Samuelson didn’t believe her.

“Was there anything about her you can remember other than the costume?” Duncan asked.

“All I saw was her silhouette in the doorway. But I think I’d recognize her voice if I heard it again.” A strident, high-pitched voice.

Duncan shifted in his chair. “When was the last time you were on Inspiration Island?”

“I’ve never been on the island. Trevor didn’t want me seeing it until everything was finished. He said he didn’t allow anyone but crews on the island during construction, not even investors, if he could help it.” She realized how stupid she’d been. Trevor had probably used the island as a place to spend time with the other Scarlett. Not that Jill cared to go out there, given the island’s history. Maybe that was why she’d never pushed the subject.

“Do you know anyone who might have wanted to harm Trevor Forester?” Duncan asked.

She shook her head. “I would have said Trevor had no enemies. But I realized tonight that I didn’t know Trevor at all.”

“I think that will be enough for now.” Duncan turned off the tape recorder. Both deputies pushed to their feet. “We’ll check out your story, Ms. Lawson. You might want to have someone take a look at that cut on your forehead.”

“It’s fine.” She told herself there was no reason to worry about anything. The man she was with in the cottage would come forward once he heard about the murder. Also the other Scarlett. Once the deputies found her car…

“When you search the cottage, you’ll find my engagement ring I threw at the man as I was leaving.” She cringed as she remembered what else she’d left behind. “You’ll also find some black silk…underthings of mine that I didn’t take the time to collect.” She was mortified that her risqué panties and bra would now be…evidence in a murder investigation. Her face burned. “All of which prove I’m telling the truth.”

Duncan looked sympathetic, but doubtful. “They prove you were in the cottage. Not that you were with anyone. We’ll get back to you. Please don’t leave town.”

“I have no intention of going anywhere,” she snapped. “I have a bakery to run. I also have no reason to leave. I want to know who killed Trevor as much as you do. More so, since you seem to think I’m a suspect.”

“If you think of anything else, please give me a call.” Deputy Duncan handed her his card.

She watched them both leave, feeling heartsick. The events of the night seemed surreal, a bad dream. Trevor murdered? Herself a suspect? A chill skittered over her skin. Was it possible that she’d found the passion she’d always longed for—in the arms of a total stranger?



MACKENZIE COOPER left the Foresters’ and walked down the road in the pouring rain to his pickup. He’d had to park a half mile back up the lane because of all the cars. Those cars were gone now, and when he turned to look back, he saw something that sent his heart pounding. The sheriff’s car was parked near the rear entrance of the house.

Getting into his Chevy truck, the camper on the back, he drove north down the narrow, winding lake road toward Bandit’s Bay Marina, where he kept his houseboat. What had happened to cause the sheriff to go up to the house? He had a feeling he didn’t want to know.

At the Beach Bar at the end of the pier at the marina, he ordered a beer. “What’s all the excitement?” he asked the bartender.

“Trevor Forester was murdered tonight,” the bartender said.

Mac felt as if he’d been kicked in the gut. Trevor was dead and Mac had just slept with his fiancée. Talk about bad karma.

He drank his beer, hardly tasting it, and listened to some of the locals talking about how Forester’s boat was found floating about a half mile off Inspiration Island. A fisherman found Trevor lying in a pool of blood in the bottom of the boat. He’d been shot twice in the heart.

Murder was rare enough in this part of Montana. The last one was back in 1997 when some guy was killed on Hawk Island. What made this murder more tantalizing was that the victim was a local and that he was developing Inspiration Island, an island the men at the bar said should have been left alone. They hinted that the island was haunted, which was a good reason not to develop it.

Mac didn’t buy into any of that mumbo jumbo. What interested him was that the locals hadn’t liked Trevor. Partially because of the resentment they harbored for him and the Forester family money. Partially because Trevor was a jackass who also hadn’t been paying his bills of late.

Mac sipped his beer, unable to shake the anxiety he’d felt the moment he’d seen the sheriff’s car at the Foresters’ lake house. It was just a matter of time before the sheriff found out about Trevor’s call to Mac.

“I think someone’s trying to kill me,” Trevor had said on the phone yesterday, sounding scared. “I heard you’re a private investigator. I need you to find out who it is before it’s too late.”

It had been Trevor’s plan for them to meet at the party to discuss the job. Trevor had sent Mac a costume: Rhett Butler. They were to meet at the lake cottage at eight-fifteen tonight. Trevor would be arriving by boat.

Except Trevor never made it. Another boat pulled up. And Mac had recognized the man’s voice as he came onto shore with a woman on his arm. Nathaniel Pierce. He and Mac had gone to university together. Mac had forgotten that Pierce had bought a place up this way.

He’d been watching Pierce from the window when the cottage door opened and the woman came in. The last thing Mac wanted to do was see Pierce, so Mac had kissed the woman to keep her quiet.

According to the discussion at the bar, Trevor’s fiancée was a woman named Jill Lawson. While locals had little regard for Trevor, they had nothing but praise for Jill, although, like Mac, they couldn’t understand what she saw in Trevor Forester. Jill owned a bakery in town called The Best Buns in Town.

A name that had more than a little truth to it, he thought. According to the locals at the bar, Jill was a hard worker, a fine-looking, intelligent young woman who baked the best cinnamon rolls in four states, not just in town.

If the locals knew about Trevor’s other woman, they weren’t talking. Mac listened to everyone speculate on who might have killed Trevor. It was clear no one had a clue. Mac finished his beer and walked down the dock to his boat, thinking of Jill Lawson. Worrying about her and wondering how she was going to take the murder of her fiancé, given what had happened tonight.

His houseboat was basically a box on pontoons, containing just the basics for living. He had it docked at the farthest slip at the end of an older section of the marina. The cheap seats.

The boat wasn’t much, but it was home. It had a flat roof, with a railing around both the bottom and top decks, a retractable diving board and a slide that he’d used more for escape in the past than for swimming.

He entered the houseboat cabin without a key—he never bothered to keep the place locked—and was instantly aware that someone was inside waiting for him. He heard the telltale squeak of his favorite chair, but he’d also developed a sixth sense for unwelcome company. It had saved his life on more than one occasion.

Drawing his weapon from his ankle holster, he moved soundlessly through to the living area at the center of the cabin. He aimed the gun at the person sitting in the dark in his chair and turned on a light.

“I do like a cautious man,” Nathaniel Pierce said as he looked up from the recliner where he was lounging, a bottle of Mac’s beer in his hand.

“Pierce,” Mac said.

The man was tanned, his body lean, his hair blond, his eyes blue, and even dressed down in jeans, a polo shirt and deck shoes, Nathaniel Pierce reeked of money. Old money.

Mac put the weapon away, walked to the small kitchen, pulled a bottle of beer from the fridge and twisted off the cap, pretty sure he was going to need a drink.

It wasn’t every day he came home to find Nathaniel Pierce sitting in his living room in the dark waiting for him. Mac thanked his lucky stars for that. He and Pierce had been roommates at university—actually at several Ivy League universities, which they attended during a troubled period in both of their lives. They hadn’t been friends for years.

Finding Pierce here made him nervous—and wary. “Slumming?” Mac asked.

Pierce laughed with only mild amusement.

“I’m sure you’ve heard that Trevor Forester was murdered tonight,” Pierce said.

So much for small talk. “Trevor Forester?”

Pierce smiled. “I saw your truck at the party, but I never did see you.”

Mac took a sip of his beer, wondering what Pierce was doing here. More importantly, what his interest in Forester was, or in himself, for that matter. “You hanging out with people like the Foresters?” Pierce had always been an old-money snob. Sure, the Foresters had money, but it was new and not nearly as much as the Pierces’. It was like the difference between a hot dog and beluga caviar.

“It’s a small community,” Pierce said in answer.

Not that small.

“I’m curious what you were doing there.” Pierce took a swig of beer and smiled as if enjoying the taste. Not likely.

“I had an invitation.” Mac put his feet up on the coffee table and downed half his beer, telling himself he was nothing like the man sitting in his recliner. True, they looked alike and were both thirty-six. At six-four, Pierce was a couple of inches taller, carried a little more weight and his hair was blonder, his eyes bluer.

And they came from the same backgrounds. Mac had tried to overcome his. He’d chosen the worst possible career and lived on his houseboat on one lake or another or in the camper on the back of his truck. He kept a small office in Whitefish, Montana, where his sister lived, and he checked in every week or so, taking only the jobs that interested him.

He drank beer, dressed in old blue jeans, ragged T-shirts and Mexican sandals. Most days he was as close to happy as he could get, all things considered.

Clearly Pierce found all of that amusing, as if he thought Mac tried too hard to disguise who he was. A rich kid from old money. Just not as rich as Pierce.

Nathaniel Pierce loved being rich and flaunted it—when he wasn’t slumming, like tonight. He believed it was the privileged’s duty to acquire more wealth.

Mac, on the other hand, liked working for a living. He didn’t require much. What he did require was a purpose in life. He thrived on challenging himself, both mentally and physically. That was why he’d gotten into private investigation.

“What is it you really want, Pierce?” he asked, deciding to cut to the chase.

“I told you, I want to know your interest in the Foresters. I wasn’t aware you even knew them.”

Mac smiled as he got to his feet. “It’s late. I’m tired. I’ve had a big night.”

Pierce didn’t move. “I have a job for you, Mac.”

“I already have a job.”

His old friend lifted an eyebrow. “I’ll pay you double what you’re getting from your current client.”

Mac smiled at that. His current client was dead. “You know waving money at me is a waste of time.”

Pierce nodded, smiled and slowly pushed himself to his feet. “I do know that about you, Mac.” He said it as if he found that to be a flaw in Mac’s character. “Why don’t you come out to my ranch, say in the morning about nine? I have a little place down the lake where I raise a few buffalo.”

Little. Right. Mac sighed impatiently. “I told you—”

“You’re already on another job. Yes, you told me.” Pierce picked up a plain black videotape from beside the recliner. Mac hadn’t noticed that Pierce had put it there. “Take a look at this. If you still aren’t interested…” Pierce shrugged and tossed Mac the tape.

Mac caught it and watched Pierce leave. He stood there, listening to Pierce retreat down the old wooden dock until the footfalls became too faint to hear. Then he looked down with apprehension at the videotape in his hand.

What the hell was on this? Something that Nathaniel Pierce was confident would change Mac’s mind about the job offer.

That alone was enough to make Mac nervous as hell. But to find Pierce sitting in the dark on the houseboat drinking beer, waiting…

Mac walked over to the VCR, turned on the TV, popped in the tape and hit Play. The images were blurred, everything a grainy black and white. The tape appeared to be a security surveillance video.

In the soundless recording were three people. Two wore ski masks, one of whom carried a sledgehammer. A third stood just out of the camera’s view, but part of that person’s shadow could be seen against the side wall.

Mac watched as the one with the sledgehammer worked to break through some expensive-looking wood. The other man in the ski mask had his back to the camera. The third appeared to be just watching, but the other two would glance back at him from time to time and say something Mac couldn’t make out.

After a few minutes the hammer had made a large hole in what appeared to be a hidden compartment in the wall. The other masked man pushed the one with the sledgehammer out of the way and took a metal box from inside the compartment. The box looked to be about eight inches square and three or four inches deep. There didn’t seem to be anything else in the hole in the wall because the men turned and left, disappearing from the camera’s lens.

The videotape flickered, and the setting changed to outdoors. An old Ford van, dark in color, sat with the engine running, and the driver’s face was captured on film. He was watching out the windshield, looking very young and very nervous. He was the only one not wearing a mask.

An instant later the two men in ski masks emerged from the house and ran toward the van. As they ran, they ripped off their masks. Mac’s heart stopped.

One of the men was Mac’s nineteen-year-old nephew Shane Ramsey, who was supposed to be in Whitefish with Mac’s sister.

The other man running toward the getaway van was Trevor Forester.




Chapter Three


Mac couldn’t sleep. He lay sprawled on his back in the bed, staring up at the ceiling, afraid to close his eyes. When he’d closed them, his thoughts closed in on him, an unsettling mix of pleasure and pain.

Even the pleasure was painful. He’d promised himself in his youth that he wasn’t going to be one of those men who had regrets. Not like his father. Or his father before him. That was why he lived the life he did. On his own terms.

What a joke. He knew regret as keenly as he knew sorrow. And tonight would be a night he knew he would live to regret.

He gave up on sleep, got up, pulled on his jeans and, taking a cold beer from the fridge, wandered out on the deck to sit in the cool darkness.

The marina was dead quiet. The lake was calm under a limitless sky of dark blue velvet and glittering stars. He closed his eyes and tilted the mouth of the bottle to his lips. The glass was cool and wet, the beer icy cold as it ran down his throat.

He opened his eyes. It was the darkness, he realized. The blackness behind his eyelids that stole any chance of sleep. The same kind of blind darkness that would always remind him of the intimate inkiness inside the cottage—and her.

He smiled to himself wryly, remembering. He’d been lost the moment his lips touched hers. She’d stolen his breath, taken his pounding pulse hostage and carried him away to a place he’d sworn to never go again. Never find again even if he’d been tempted to look.

And what surprised him was that she’d seemed as blown away by the experience as he’d been. Something had happened tonight in the cottage, something that scared the hell out of him, because it made him feel as if he’d boarded a runaway freight train that couldn’t be stopped. And now all he could do was wait for the inevitable train wreck.

He’d known that in one split second, one moment of weakness, life could irrevocably change. Mac had seen his father go from wealthy to piss poor in one of those seconds. The man’s reputation ruined. His life destroyed. How many times had his father wanted to take back that instant in time?

Mac had always sworn he wouldn’t end up like his father. He’d live his life, take on little baggage and never care too much about anything. He’d screwed up once and it had cost him more than he could bear. He wouldn’t let it happen again.

He’d slipped up tonight in the cottage. He just hoped to hell he could weather the storm he feared was coming because of it. Every action had a consequence. The moment he’d kissed her. The moment he saw his nephew and Trevor Forester on that videotape. Both life-altering in ways he didn’t even want to think about.

And now he was working for Pierce. He swore. Mac had few ways he could be coerced. His sister and nephew were the only family he had.

Mac swore as he looked out over the dark lake and thought about his nephew, a spoiled kid who’d hated his grandfather for losing the family fortune. Thanks to previous Cooper generations, though, both Mac and his sister had substantial trust funds. Just enough, it seemed, to make Shane crave real wealth. Apparently the kind Nathaniel Pierce had.

Mac took another long drink of his beer, dreading what Pierce would tell him in the morning. There was a reason Pierce hadn’t called the sheriff when he’d been robbed. Mac knew Pierce hadn’t done it out of some loyalty to either Mac or his nephew. Not Pierce. No, Pierce didn’t want the cops knowing about the metal box. Now why was that?

Not that it mattered. There was no way Mac couldn’t take the job. Not if he hoped to save his nephew—although it might already be too late for that. Someone had murdered Trevor Forester tonight. What were the chances it wasn’t connected to the robbery?

Mac also suspected that Pierce wanted him in on this for reasons of his own that had nothing to do with Shane. Shane was just a means to an end. And that made Mac worry he was already in over his head.

Leaning back, he stared up at the stars and knew this restlessness he felt had little to do with Pierce or Shane. As a breeze washed over the bare skin of his chest, he found himself drowning in memories of the woman from the cottage. He breathed in the night, the cool, damp scent of the lake. Closing his eyes, he was engulfed by the darkness and the feel of her. Jill Lawson.

Seeing her was out of the question. But he could no more forget her than he could the image of his nephew and Trevor Forester in ski masks on a grainy black-and-white videotape.

Pleasure and pain. He opened his eyes. A moment of weakness, he thought with a curse as he went inside the houseboat for his shirt, shoes and weapon. There was no turning back now.



AFTER THE DEPUTIES left, Jill locked up the front door and walked through the bakery to the rear of the building and the inside stairs that led up to the apartment.

With her father’s encouragement and some money her grandmother had left her, she’d bought the two-story brick building right out of college and started her bakery, The Best Buns in Town. Gram Lawson was the one who got Jill hooked on baking in the first place. Grandpa had always said Gram made the best cinnamon buns in town.

From the time Jill was a child, she remembered Gram’s house smelling of flour and yeast. She loved that smell. Especially tonight as she walked past the now-silent equipment, the sparkling kitchen. The mere sight grounded her and gave her strength.

As she started up the narrow back stairs, she felt a draft and looked up. Her breath caught. The door to her apartment was standing open. She always kept that door closed and locked when she was gone.

She froze, heart pounding, and strained to listen. She heard nothing but silence overhead. Maybe she’d left the door open earlier. She’d been so upset about Trevor not picking her up on time…

Slowly, she climbed the stairs, all the horror of the night making her jumpy. Her head still ached from where she’d been hit and she felt sick to her stomach when she thought about Trevor. He’d been her first. The only man she’d ever been intimate with—until tonight. Dead. Murdered.

At the top of the stairs she stopped and listened again. Silence. Cautiously, she reached through the open doorway and flicked on the light, illuminating the small kitchen and breakfast nook. Beyond it to the left was the living room.

She blinked in disbelief and horror, a small cry of alarm escaping her lips. Her apartment had been ransacked—just as Trevor’s had.

She heard a floorboard groan in the direction of the pantry. She started to turn, and then she saw him. A man wearing a black ski mask. She screamed as he grabbed her, but the sound was cut off by his gloved hand clamping over her mouth.

He slammed her against the wall, knocking her breath from her lungs, and struggled to pull a wadded-up rag from his pocket. She fought him, but he was too strong for her.

“Where is it?” he demanded, removing his hand from her mouth.

She tried to scream, but he quickly stuffed the nasty-tasting rag in her mouth, pinned her hands to her sides and flattened her body against the wall with his own. She couldn’t breathe! Couldn’t scream! He was going to kill her. Or worse.

“Where is it, bitch?” the hoarse voice demanded. “Where’s the damned ring?”

The ring? She felt him pull hard on the silver charm bracelet at her wrist, felt pain tear down her arm. She struggled to get one leg free of his body and brought it up hard into his groin.

He let out a howl of pain, then reared back and hit her in the side of the face. As she slid to the floor, she heard him stumbling down the stairs and out of the building.



“AS FAR AS YOU CAN TELL nothing seems to be missing?” Deputy Rex Duncan inquired. Duncan had done a thorough search of the apartment while Samuelson had gone down to the bakery to make sure no one was in the building.

Jill felt numb as she shook her head. She sat in one of her overstuffed chairs watching the deputy as he looked around the room. The paramedics had left, after telling her how lucky she was. She just had a cut on her forehead, a small abrasion on her cheek where she’d been hit and a scrape on her wrist. Neither blow tonight had been life-threatening. Nor was anything broken. No concussion. Just a headache from the first blow and a bruise to go with the other one.

“No signs of forced entry,” Samuelson said as he came up the steps and joined them in the living room.

Jill saw the two exchange a look. “What does that mean?”

“Is it possible you forgot to lock a door?” Duncan asked.

“No. They were all locked when I left for the party.”

Samuelson was eyeing her again as if she was lying. “Unless you left the door open or the guy had a key.”

“Who has a key to your apartment?” Duncan asked.

“My father and…Trevor had one.”

“There were no keys on him other than the boat key when he was found,” Duncan said.

Her blood went cold. “You mean the person who was in my apartment had Trevor’s key?”

“We don’t know that,” Samuelson said.

Jill shook her head. “Trevor’s key to my apartment was on the same ring as the one to my car. It stands to reason that whoever has my car has a key to this apartment.”

“But you said you thought the person at the condo earlier who’d been driving your car was a woman,” Samuelson pointed out.

She nodded, her head aching. “I smelled the perfume, but I never saw her. I can’t be sure.”

“You’re sure the person in your apartment tonight was a man, though?” Duncan asked.

“Yes.”

“Well, you said nothing seems to be missing.” Duncan glanced around. “The place has been tossed pretty good.”

“He must have been up here waiting for you while we were downstairs in the bakery,” Samuelson said. “It seems like we would have heard him.” He turned to Duncan. “Make some noise,” he said, and went downstairs again.

Duncan walked around, opened and closed drawers, moved furniture. Jill watched him, knowing what Samuelson was trying to prove. That maybe she herself had torn up this place, hit herself in the head, pretended she was attacked. And for what possible reason? To somehow cover up killing Trevor? She groaned and closed her eyes as she heard Samuelson come back up the stairs.

“Well?” Duncan asked.

“I didn’t hear anything,” the other deputy said, sounding disappointed. “The apartment is over the kitchen, not the coffee shop, and the building must be pretty well insulated.”

“It appears he was looking for something in particular,” Duncan said. “He didn’t take the stereo or the TV or that expensive camera sitting right there on his way out. It has the same MO as the others.”

The Bigfork area had been hit by dozens of burglaries over the past year, all believed to have been executed by someone local who knew exactly what he was after because of the items he didn’t take.

With a start, Jill opened her eyes. “He asked me where my ring was.”

“Your ring?” Duncan asked.

“I assume he meant my engagement ring since it’s the only one I wear—wore.” She frowned and looked down at her bare wrist. “He broke off my bracelet.” Her skin was raw where the chain had scraped her.

“What kind of bracelet was it?” Samuelson asked.

“A silver charm bracelet with a small silver heart with my name engraved on it,” she said. “It was a present from Trevor.” She could feel Samuelson staring at her again, wondering no doubt why the thief would take something like a cheap charm bracelet and not her camera.

“Is there someone you could stay with the rest of the night?” Duncan asked.

Her eyes felt as if they had sand in them. She was bone tired. Her head pounded. And she was sore and scared and angry and as vulnerable as she’d ever been. She just wanted the deputies to leave.

She wasn’t waking up her father at this time of the night. Not when he’d been too sick earlier to attend the party. Nor was she going to a friend’s. She just wanted to go to sleep in her own bed and pretend none of this had happened.

“I’m staying here. I’ll lock the doors from the inside with the slide bolt. The windows are locked. I doubt he’ll come back tonight, anyway.” She saw the deputies exchange a look, but she didn’t give a fig what they thought at this point.

“I suggest you get your locks changed,” Duncan said. “In the meantime we’ll see if Trevor’s keys turn up. You have my number.”

She nodded and followed them downstairs to lock and bolt the door, then she checked the entry to the bakery. Double locked and bolted.

Back upstairs, she headed for her bedroom. She would straighten up the mess in the morning. Tonight all she wanted was to get out of this ridiculous costume, take a hot shower and go to bed.

By the time she finished, she was so exhausted she crawled between the clean sheets and fell into a comalike sleep haunted by men with ski masks—one masked man in particular.



JILL AWOKE to pounding. Without opening her eyes, she reached for the man next to her in the bed, the memory of their lovemaking so fresh—

Her eyes flew open, and her hand jerked back from the empty space next to her, the memories coming in nauseating waves. Trevor. Murdered. Trevor, the man who had betrayed her.

She sat up, remembering the other Scarlet silhouetted in the doorway, the woman’s words echoing in her head. A woman who called Trevor “darling” and had planned to run away with him last night.

Jill groaned as she recalled that last night she, the woman who’d made love only once before, and that with her fiancé, had made love—an amazing and passionate and wonderful experience—with a complete stranger. And now she was a suspect in Trevor’s murder.

She wanted to bury her head under the covers and stay there, but the pounding wouldn’t stop and she realized someone was downstairs banging at the outside door. She glanced at the clock, shocked to find she’d overslept. It was almost three-thirty in the morning.

Hurriedly, she pulled on a pair of jeans, a sweater and her slippers. As she opened her bedroom door, she saw her ransacked apartment and remembered the man in the ski mask. A shiver of fear skittered up her spine.

In the wall mirror she caught a glimpse of herself. She looked as if she’d gone ten rounds in a boxing ring—and lost.

At the bottom of the stairs she turned on the outside light and was relieved to see Zoe Grosfield, her baking assistant. Zoe mimed that she’d forgotten her key, then mimed a heartfelt apology.

Oh, why hadn’t Jill thought to call Zoe to tell her not to come in today?

“Hey,” Zoe said as Jill unlocked and opened the door. “Sorry. You know me, airhead extraordinaire.” She pretended to refill her head with air as she breezed in, bringing the fresh, cold morning with her.

Just the sight of Zoe cheered Jill immensely, and she realized that she needed to bake today, needed that normalcy and the comfort her work afforded her. She could lose herself in baking, and today that was exactly what she needed.

“So you want me to start the breads?” Zoe asked with her usual exuberance as she headed for the kitchen.

Zoe’s hair was green today, spiked with a stiff gel that made her head look like an unkempt lawn. She’d filled her many piercings with silver and wore makeup that gave her a straight-from-the-grave look. Frightening. Especially at this hour of the morning.

Jill had thought twice about hiring Zoe. For one thing, she was young—only seventeen, not even out of high school. Cute as a pixie, but her makeup was heinous, her many piercings painful-looking and her neon-bright, short spiked hair changed color with frightening regularity. Jill had been afraid the girl would scare the older customers.

Plus, Zoe had an ever-changing string of boyfriends whose appearance rivaled her own. And it was no secret that the girl loved to party. Almost every T-shirt Zoe owned proclaimed it. Everything about Zoe screamed “unreliable bakery assistant.”

But from the first day, Zoe had seemed fascinated by the workings of the bakery, so Jill had weakened and given her the job.

Zoe had proved to be a good worker, prompt and dependable. And Jill had felt guilty for judging the girl by her appearance.

Also of late, Zoe had fallen in love. Which wasn’t rare. But this one had lasted for more than a week. Which was.

“Breads. That would be great,” Jill said. “If you want to get started, I’ll be right down.”

“Rough night?” Zoe asked, eyeing her.

Had she heard about Trevor’s murder? Jill knew from her glance in the mirror that she looked bad.

“Just a late night,” she said. “That stupid costume I was wearing.” She raised her hand to the knot on her head. It was tender. So was the spot beneath her left eye. “I kept running into things.” So true.

Zoe nodded knowingly. “One of those hoop-skirt things, right? Man, can you imagine dressing like that all the time? Too weird. And in your case, too dangerous!”

Jill laughed. Yes, Zoe was exactly what she needed.

“I’ll get some coffee going first,” Zoe said. “You look like you could use a cup.”

“Thanks, I really could.” She was grateful that she wouldn’t have to discuss last night—or Trevor. If Zoe knew about Trevor’s murder she’d be asking a dozen questions. “I’ll be down in just a few minutes to get going on the cinnamon buns.”

“Cool,” Zoe said, and headed for the bakery’s kitchen. Beyond it, Jill could see the dark shapes of the tables and chairs of the small coffee shop. And beyond that the dark street. What caught her eye was a car parked across the intersection. A shiny black sports car. Was there someone sitting in it behind the tinted windows? Someone watching the bakery?

“Jill? Are you sure you’re all right?”

She blinked and focused on Zoe, who’d turned to look back at her in concern.

Jill nodded. “Just tired.” She hurried back upstairs to her apartment, ran a brush through her long brown hair and plaited it into one long braid down her back. After she brushed her teeth, she put on makeup, something she seldom wore, to cover the worst of the scrapes and bruises. Not great, but definitely better.

She tidied the apartment a little and returned to the kitchen to find Zoe hard at work getting the bread doughs started.

“How was your night?” she asked the girl, who was sifting flour into a large metal bowl. It was the way they started their days. With Zoe’s stories about her dates, her parents, her friends and the latest love of her life, a guy known only as Spider. “Did you see Spider?”

“Finally.” Zoe measured flour into the large floor mixer and sighed. “He promised to take me to a party, but he didn’t show up in time.”

Jill knew the feeling. “I’m sorry.”

“He came around later, said he’d been working.”

Working. Jill had heard that one before, too.

“But we went out on the beach, parked and talked.” Zoe shrugged shyly. “He’s the coolest guy I know. Older, you know. And he likes me.” She grinned. “A lot. But I’m taking it slow. You know, kinda playing hard to get.”

“Good idea,” Jill agreed, curious about this Spider. Older. That was the first time Zoe had revealed that. “How much older?”

Zoe shrugged. “He drives a great car.”

“Really?” Jill glanced out the front window thinking it might be a black sports car. But the car was gone.

“It doesn’t happen to be black, something sleek and sporty, does it?” Jill asked.

Zoe laughed. “Not likely. It’s old. You know, one of those cars from, like, the sixties that’s been made cool again.”

“Cool.” Jill felt relieved Spider’s cool car wasn’t a black sports car. She knew she was just being paranoid, but then, she had a right to be, all things considered. She lost herself in making the cinnamon-roll dough.

It was hard not to worry about Zoe. The girl was too trusting, especially in light of the disappearances there’d been in the area over the years. Most were girls about Zoe’s age who’d come to the lake for summer jobs. As far as Jill knew, none of them had ever been found.

Jill felt sick remembering the year she was sixteen and the close call she’d had. It had been the only time she’d hitchhiked. Her first and last time.

Carefully, she dumped the flour and yeast into the large mixer and turned it on low as she added the warm water. Work was exactly what she needed. Work that she’d loved since those early days in her grandmother’s kitchen. Jill had always turned to work to help her get through the rough times, like four years ago when her mother died, or like the past few weeks when she’d known something was wrong between her and Trevor. This morning was no different.





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