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  She loved it here as much as her sister had, this spectacular meeting of land and sea. It was the ancient call of the ocean, she supposed, as seductive and powerful as a lover's kiss.

  She loved the view and she loved the smells and she loved the low, constant murmur of the ocean.

  On impulse, she slid open the doors and walked out onto the balcony, shivering a little at the cool tiles beneath her bare feet. She settled into a thick, cushioned chair Shelly had probably set out for exactly this purpose and drew her feet under her, enjoying the night and another psychic link to her sister.

  She hadn't been out long when she heard it, something that didn't quite seem to fit the peaceful night—the quiet finality of a door clicking open and closed somewhere below her.

  She scanned the shadows below her. She couldn't see anything unusual at first. Then she gasped as a darker shadow moved out across the moonlit grass and disappeared into the fog-shrouded trees.

  William!

  Chapter 8

  Her first instinct was to run down the steps and chase after him but William was moving quickly, hurrying as if he had a purpose in mind, unlike the night of the funeral when she had found him standing disoriented and helpless at the top of the redwood steps.

  She would never be able to find him in the darkness and fog without a flashlight and in thick woods she was unfamiliar with.

  This time, he didn't seem to be heading toward the beach but had gone into the trees that divided Seal Point from a neighboring estate.

  She needed to notify Thomas. He knew the area and might have some idea where his father might be heading in his altered mental state. Aware with every passing second that the potential for disaster loomed ever greater, she rushed down the stairs and ran down the hall to Thomas's room, then knocked urgently on the door.

  "Tom? Thomas? Are you there?"

  After a long moment when she began to fear perhaps he might still be working in his office at the other end of the house, a sleep-roughened voice answered.

  "Yeah."

  Under the door she saw a sliver of light appear as he must have turned on a lamp. "Come in. What's wrong?"

  She opened the door. "I think your father's left the house again," she said quickly.

  His oath was low and heartfelt and he thrust aside the blankets covering him. He jumped from the bed so quickly Sophie didn't even have time to look away when she realized he wore a pair of navy blue boxer shorts and nothing else.

  He yanked on jeans then shoved his feet into a pair of boots by the bed and headed for the door. "How do you know he left?" he asked without waiting to see if she followed him.

  She hurried after him, aware of the complete inappropriateness given the gravity of the situation, of noticing the way the firm muscles of his bare shoulders rippled down to a narrow waist.

  She cleared her throat and focused on the crisis at hand. "Something woke me. I walked outside on the balcony for a little fresh air and saw someone leave the house, heading for the trees. I couldn't see anything but a dark shape, really, but I knew it must be your father. I would have gone after him but I didn't have a flashlight in my room. Since I feared I would only get lost if I went to look for him myself, I thought it would be best to let you know."

  By now they had reached William's apartment, which consisted of a small sitting room with a door leading outside, an efficiency kitchen and two bedrooms, one for him and one for the nurse.

  Tom flipped on a light in the sitting room and moved quickly to his father's bedroom door. When he opened it, Sophie couldn't see around his broad frame but she heard his audible sigh of relief, then the rustle of bed-covers from inside.

  "Peter?" William's voice sounded sleepy and disoriented. "Is that you, Peter? What are you doing out of bed at this hour?"

  Relief soaked through her. William was safe and sound in his bed.

  But if he hadn't been wandering around outside at 2:00 a.m., who else could it have been?

  "No. It's me, Dad. Tom. I was just checking on you."

  "Tom, tell your brother to stop his nonsense and go to sleep. You've both got school tomorrow."

  Thomas was silent for a moment, then he nodded. "Sure, Dad. I'll tell him. Good night."

  He closed the door softly and was reaching to turn off the light when the door to the other bedroom in the apartment opened and the nurse, Maura, walked out wearing a ruffled flannel robe that would have done a Victorian maiden proud.

  "Is everything all right? What's going on?"

  "We just had a scare, Maura," Tom said. "We were afraid Dad might have gone wandering off again."

  "I'd like to see the man try. He would have to have some kind of magic wand to get out without setting off all those bells and alarms you hung on the outside door. If he tries to leave again, I guarantee I'll hear the racket. If I don't, we can both go down to the drug store together so I can buy myself the loudest hearing aids I can find."

  Tom smiled. "Well, at any rate, there's been a mistake. He's tucked in bed, right where he should be."

  "I'm sorry we disturbed you, Mrs. McMurray," Sophie said.

  "Don't worry a thing about it. I'm sure I'll fall right back asleep in two shakes. I'm just glad he didn't go haring off again."

  Tom bid the nurse good-night, then he led the way back into the hall outside his father's apartment.

  "I saw someone leaving the house, Tom. I know I did," Sophie said after the door closed behind them.

  He couldn't doubt her sincerity, not with the worry still shading her eyes. "It's a dark night with little moonlight. The ocean fog can play tricks on the eyes."

  "It wasn't a trick of the fog or a figment of my imagination. I saw someone."

  He sighed. He didn't want to hurt her feelings by actively doubting her story but he couldn't agree.

  "I believe you think you saw someone. But it's impossible. Who could it have been? Anybody trying to get in or out of the house would trip the alarms unless he knew the code, which no one outside the immediate family has. Beyond that, there are motion-sensors around the grounds and someone would have to know where every single one is to make it through without raising a hell of a ruckus."

  She stuck out that determined little chin of hers. "I'm not crazy. I saw someone."

  "I don't believe you're crazy."

  "But you think I'm seeing things."

  "I've had similar experiences out there in the fog. Once when I was on a night mission I could swear I saw an entire fleet of schooners floating below us. Turned out to be only fog, not a ghost ship."

  "It wasn't fog or a ghost. I don't like this at all, Tom. Not after what Herrera and Washburn had to say today. What if this is somehow linked to the crash?"

  He held out a hand. "Let's not jump ahead of ourselves. In the morning I'll contact the company that handles security at Seal Point to see if they noted anything unusual on the computers during the night. We'll go from there, okay?"

  She nodded and for the first time since she came to his room, he noticed what she was wearing—a robe of rich emerald that perfectly matched her eyes.

  It looked silky and exotic and made him think of warm island breezes and sun-bronzed skin. He couldn't help wondering what it would feel like sliding through his fingers.

  Probably as soft as that wild froth of hair curling loose over her shoulders.

  He shouldn't allow himself to wonder such things. They would only end up torturing him through a sleepless night he could ill afford.

  Still, the low light in the hallway lent a seductive intimacy to the moment. It would be so easy to pull her close, to bury his hands in that silky robe and lose himself in the heat of her mouth.

  He jerked his mind away from that dangerous path. "What were you doing up at this hour anyway?"

  Her mouth twisted into a rueful smile. "To be honest, I'm not quite sure. Something woke me and I realized I had fallen asleep with the sliding door to the balcony open. I went to close it and was drawn out by the stillness of the night. I was
out there for only a few moments watching the moonlight on the water when I saw your father leaving the house. Or what I thought was your father."

  "Even though it wasn't Dad, I appreciate your concern. For some reason I've always had the impression the two of you didn't care much for each other, back before his condition developed."

  She opened her mouth to answer him, then Tom had the distinct impression she changed her mind about whatever she had been planning to say.

  "I barely knew your father," she murmured instead, her attention fixed on a small glass sculpture gracing a table in the hallway. "I don't know why you would possibly think William and I had anything other than a polite relationship."

  He tried to think what might have given him that idea but couldn't put a finger on any one specific thing. It was more like a vague impression. An instinct. A look of subtle distaste in his father's eyes, maybe, when Shelly would talk about her twin or something Peter might have said.

  He tried to remember the dynamics between Sophie and William the few times he'd seen them together, those two weeks a decade ago and then when the twins were born and Sophie had stopped for a quick visit between assignments.

  No, he was sure of it. He was positive he had detected a certain coolness lingering between the two of them. But since she didn't seem inclined to enlighten him as to the reason—and his father couldn't—he decided to let the matter drop.

  "I must be mistaken, then."

  He was about to bid good-night when she changed the subject.

  "The children will be going back to school tomorrow."

  "You don't think it's too soon?"

  "I told you I'm no expert on this whole parenting thing but my gut instinct tells me they need to return to some kind of regular routine as quickly as possible. I have to think that returning to school—keeping busy with schoolwork and their friends—will help keep their minds off the deaths of their parents as much as possible."

  "Don't sell those gut instincts short," he answered. "So far I think they've been right on the money when it comes to knowing what's best for Ali and the twins."

  She raised one delicate eyebrow. "And here I was under the impression you thought I was a bad influence on them. Something to do with my not having one smidgeon of anything resembling common sense, I believe you said."

  "You're not going to forget that, are you?"

  She laughed. "Probably not. You were right, of course. I don't have much common sense."

  It was becoming increasingly difficult for him to reconcile this soft, pleasing woman with the selfish, irresponsible Sophie who came and went as she pleased without any regard to the feelings of anyone she might be leaving behind.

  "I shouldn't have said that. Again, I apologize. I was upset and worried about them. I must admit, they don't seem to have suffered any lasting damage from their rainy-day swim."

  He paused, fighting down the urge to twist one of those errant curls around his finger and tug her close. "I'm trying to tell you I think you're doing a good job with them."

  "I love them, Thomas. No matter what else you might think of me, please don't doubt that."

  "I don't."

  Still, he couldn't help wondering and worrying if love would be enough to keep her here.

  "I'm glad you're here. I would have been in a real mess without you, especially with these latest developments. I don't know how I would have been able to give the children the attention they need—the attention they deserve—while trying to handle everything at Canfield and my father, too. You've been good for them, Sophie."

  She gazed at him out of those huge green eyes and he was surprised to see what might have been the sheen of tears glimmering in the dimly lit hallway. "Thank you," she murmured.

  They fell into a not-uncomfortable silence as the big house shifted and settled around them. He knew he should let her return to bed—they would both need all the rest they could find to help them face the challenges of the coming day.

  He knew how much energy it took to keep up with Ali and the twins. And in the morning he would have to try to make his way in a world he had shunned a long time ago.

  He should walk her back to her bedroom but he was loathe to leave her, reluctant to abandon this tiny oasis of peace in a life that seemed suddenly to be adrift through one turbulent storm after another.

  "Sophie."

  She turned toward him as he said her name. If he hadn't caught that glimpse of awareness in her eyes, he might have said good-night and left her before he did something stupid.

  But he did see it, glittering there like the beacon on the Point Piños lighthouse, a mirror image of his own desire.

  With a resigned sigh, he stepped forward and kissed her.

  At the first touch of his mouth she froze, her body stiff and unwieldy in his arms, and he had the terrible feeling he had just committed a grievous error in judgment, crossed some invisible but vitally necessary barrier between them.

  He started to pull away but before he could, her mouth softened and she whispered out a sigh that vibrated down his spine as her hands crept up to rest tentatively on his bare chest.

  At her response, a whole host of answering emotions swamped him. He deepened the kiss, pulling her closer. She was tall, willowy, and fit against him with the same sweet perfection he remembered from a decade ago, as if she had never left his arms.

  It had been so long since he'd held her but somehow he remembered exactly how she would feel in his arms, how she would taste. Kissing her was exactly as he remembered, the same wild rush of heat and stunning sorcery and an overwhelming sense of rightness, that he belonged exactly here.

  Her mouth was warm and tasted of citrus and mint and he wanted to devour every inch of her, from those sexy tousled curls to the pink-painted toenails peeking out from her robe.

  For the moment he contented himself with her mouth and kissed her with all the pent-up passion he hadn't realized he'd been hoarding only for her.

  The silk of her robe brushed against his bare chest with every breath, tantalizing his nerve endings to a fever pitch. What had seemed so alluring earlier was now painfully erotic against his skin.

  He dragged his mouth away from hers and trailed soft kisses down her neck, then pushed aside her robe. She wore a plain sleeveless nightgown underneath and somehow he found that every bit as alluring as that sensuous robe.

  Her head lolled back, bumping gently against the wall, and he pushed aside the strap of her nightgown to kiss the soft, warm skin at the apex where shoulder met neck.

  "You smell just as I remember. Exotic and wild and delicious."

  A muscle in her neck trembled against his lips and he left the enticing expanse of skin to return to her mouth. She kissed him with such eagerness that he had to ask the question burning through him like a forest fire consuming dry tinder.

  "Why did you leave so abruptly ten years ago, Sophie? It seemed to me one moment you were in my arms just like this, and the next you were catching the next flight out of town."

  * * *

  How did he expect her to carry on a conversation when all she could focus on was the wonder of being in his arms again?

  She tried to catch hold of her thoughts that his kiss had scattered like seed pods on a stiff wind, but she had little success. "Bus," she managed, her insides weak and trembling. "I took a Greyhound. I couldn't afford a flight then."

  "Whatever," he growled. "It doesn't matter how you left, I guess. Just that you did."

  Somehow his words made a jagged tear in the glorious haze of desire and comfort that surrounded her like a warm quilt on a cold night. She blinked back to awareness and realized he had stepped away slightly, just enough to allow cool air to slide between them.

  "Was I the only one who thought we were poised on the brink of something real? Something right?" he asked, his voice low, intense. "Before we had a chance to even explore what that might be, you ran away without a word."

  She shivered and drew in a shuddering breath, trying
fiercely to regain her equilibrium. He wanted to know why she left and she couldn't begin to find the words to tell him.

  "I left you a note. I explained it."

  "A few scribbled words that didn't explain squat."

  "I told you I had a…a job waiting for me. I'd been away long enough."

  "You were scared so you ran away."

  She couldn't deny his words, not when the truth of them resonated through her like the clear, deep toll of the bells of La Giralda cathedral she had heard in Seville a few months earlier.

  She had been scared. Young and terrified and hopelessly out of her league.

  But she hadn't been scared of Tom.

  Never of him.

  Still, she knew she couldn't tell him what he wanted to know. "I should return to my room," she murmured and was relieved when her voice came out cool and steady. "The children have school early."

  "You're doing it again. Running away."

  "From what? It was only a kiss. A brief encounter between two people in a darkened hallway in the middle of the night."

  "You can fool yourself into thinking that's all it is if you want. But we both know better."

  She didn't want to face this. Not now. "Good night, Thomas. I'm sorry I woke you for nothing."

  She yanked her robe back over her shoulder and hurried for the stairs and the safety of her room.

  Chapter 9

  Back in her room, Sophie drew a deep breath and tried to block the memories whipping through her mind hard and fast.

  It was as useless as trying to hold back the sea. She pressed a hand to her still-fluttering stomach, then wandered to the window.

  Sleep would be a long time coming, she feared, if it was even possible at all tonight. Too many doubts and regrets and memories tangled through her for her to be able to find rest.

  With a resigned sigh, she picked up a colorful quilt off the chest at the foot of the bed and opened the sliding doors to the outside. The cool night air caressed her with the sweet fragrance of fall-blooming flowers and the tang of the ocean as she returned to the cushioned chair she had left only a short time ago.