"Jill Marie Landis creates characters you want to spend time with and a story that will keep you turning the pages.”                                        —Susan Elizabeth Phillips

"Sweet and sexy, warm and wise, Jill Marie Landis’s emotional stories will stay with you long after you’ve finished reading.”                                                    —Kristin Hannah

"Jill Marie Landis can really touch the heart.”                           —Jayne Ann Krentz

Chapter 1

Twilight Cove, California

Five Days Later...

ANOTHER NIGHT. The same old nightmare.

The sorrowful sound of wind chimes. The roar of the surf. The tang of salt on the air. Dense, gray sheets of rain. The shimmering pavement. Tall stalks of sugarcane bowed by the storm, slick with moisture.

Her vision blinded by tears, she tries to blink against the light, to com­prehend the blazing glare of headlights aimed straight toward her. The impact. The screech of metal on metal.

The never-ending scream that fills the silence afterward.

KAT AWOKE TANGLED in twisted sheets, sweaty, alone.

She shoved back the covers with her good hand, stepped out of bed, and walked through puddles of morning sunlight streaming through the windows. The unfamiliar house was cool and silent.

It had been a bad idea to agree to house-sit. She could feel it in her bones. She’d be better off in Long Beach working one-handed. At least her mind would be occupied.

The minute Jake had driven off with Carly and Christopher and their mutt, she started wondering how in the hell she ever let him con­vince her to take six weeks off. The peace and quiet were already driving her nuts.

She should have known her nightmares would come with her.

She paused by the window. In the distance, the Pacific sparkled like a polished aquamarine. The summer sun worked diligently to burn off the thin layer of morning haze that hovered over the tranquil California coastline.

Poised on a sandstone bluff a couple of miles away, the seasonal re­sort of Twilight Cove was a tourist stop for summer sojourners search­ing for old California with its golden, sun-drenched beaches and small-town atmosphere.

Downstairs, she found the damp chill of the night air still lingered in the shadows though it was already late morning. The cozy Crafts­man-style house Jake was refurbishing had absorbed his family’s happi­ness. Photos of Jake, Carly, and Chris were on display in every room. Carly’s stunning oil paintings, works that included ghostly white figures set against vibrant local landscapes, adorned the walls.

Kat picked up a framed photo of Chris in a baseball uniform and rubbed her thumb over the glass. It was still hard for her to believe that Jake, of all people, had a kid. Though she’d never told him so, she envied his newfound happiness, his pride in Christopher, the love he’d found with Carly.

She set the photo down. Beside it was one of Carly and Chris walk­ingalong the beach at Twilight Cove. The love in Carly’s eyes was there for all the world to see, hopeful, fragile—as love always is—and yet constant.

Kat teased Jake, but deep down she was happy for him. He had a fam­ily now. Something she had once wanted.

She crossed the open, casual living-dining room, thinking it was just too damned ironic that Jake, who’d sworn off romance, had wound up married again and living on an out-of-the-way road named Lover’s Lane.

She tried to flex her injured hand and winced. Getting along with a bulky bandage was a chore, but she’d already regained some mobility in her thumb and fingers.

Every time she looked at her left hand, she was reminded of just how far betrayal could drive a perfectly normal person to commit an irrational act.

It was also a brutal reminder of what happened whenever her feel­ings got in the way. Whenever she thought with her heart, her head stopped working and she wound up hurt.

The sun was already above the top of the eastern hills behind the house. She couldn’t wait to make a pot of coffee and stretch out in one of the teak lounges on the back deck, lift her face to the sun, and make up some of the sleep she’d lost last night, but just as she reached the kitchen, the front doorbell rang.

She glanced down at the crumpled knit shorts and tank top she’d slept in, then up at the clock on the wall. It was later than she thought— already noon.

Jake’s nearest neighbors were beyond shouting distance. The place was totally isolated.

Insistent, the bell chimed again.

She hesitated. Even with a bum hand, she was confident that she could defend herself. Still, she was wary. She’d definitely seen too many movies about fugitives stumbling across isolated homes in the middle of nowhere, heard too many news stories about home-invasion robberies.

And right now she really wished she hadn’t stayed up all night to fin­ish Edward Cain’s novel An Even Dozen, the serial-murder thriller that everyone was talking about.

Her purse was on a chair drawn up beneath the dining table, and as she passed it on her way to the front door, she slipped out her .380 auto­matic.

Get a grip, Vargas. You’re not in L.A. County. It’s probably just a Girl Scout selling cookies, someone out to save your soul, or the Avon lady.

Lord knows you could use a makeover.

Nearing the front door, she glanced out the picture window and spot­ted a Toyota Land Cruiser in the driveway. Black, newer model, parked parallel to the house. At this angle, she couldn’t see the license plate.

The stained-glass window set in the front door gave her a mottled glimpse of a tall, dark-haired man hovering on the other side. His image was blurred by rippling red, yellow, and green glass. He was alone.

Kat took a deep breath, refusing to let the incident in Seal Beach in­fect her courage. She cracked the door open, kept the automatic out of sight. Her attention was immediately absorbed by the man standing on the opposite side of the threshold.

Khaki shorts, black polo shirt open at the throat. Over six feet, wide shoulders. His blue eyes stared directly into hers. His lashes were thick, his brow smooth, his jaw strong. His hair was just as black as hers, close-cropped.

She’d never laid eyes on him in her life, but he was smiling as if actu­ally happyto see her.

He was mind-numbingly handsome. Definitely the kind of man she’d sworn off of a long, long time ago. Her mind was going blank.

She opened her mouth to ask what he wanted but all she managed was a very weak, embarrassing, "H-hi.”

Great. He’d reduced her vocabulary to a fractured syllable.

"Hi.” Impossible as it seemed, his smile intensified. "Are you Kat Vargas?”

She tried to focus, cleared her throat, and attempted not to stare. "Who wants to know?”

"I’m Ty Chandler. You’re a private investigator.”

"I know.”

"I mean, I’m lookingfor a private investigator.”

"Oh, I get it.” She relaxed and laughed. "Jake put you up to this.”

She could imagine Jake and Carly playing Cupid. Especially after the "Don’t you want somebody to love? You better find somebody to love” speech Jake gave her on the drive up.

The man shook his head. "No, actually. Selma Gibbs at the Plaza Diner suggested I look him up, then she remembered he was going out of town. She said another P.I. was house-sitting for him.”

Kat knew Selma Gibbs. They’d met two nights ago when the Montgomerys took her to the diner where Carly used to work.

As she stared up at Ty Chandler, she figured the bad news was that he probably had a wife who was cheating on him, which meant either his wife was nuts, or that he was no prize in the husband department.

The usual rush hit her. It was the same when any prospective client called. She was curious to learn the details, but she could just hear Jake telling her to send the guy on his way, reminding her that she was sup­posed to be relaxing and sorting things out, deciding what she was going to do with the rest of her life.

"Sorry. I’m on vacation. You’ll have to find somebody else. I’m sure there are some fine private investigators in San Luis Obispo.” She kept her tone cool, firm, and waited for him to leave, but he didn’t look discour­aged. In fact, he didn’t look deterred in the least.

"Selma had nothing but good things to say about Jake Montgomery,”he said. "I hoped you’d be willing to help. Can I just come in and explain? It won’t take long.”

He was very charming. Certainly friendly enough. And he looked per­fectly harmless. But then again, so had Ted Bundy.

"Sorry.”

He sighed. Frustration and disappointment were etched across his face, but he didn’t budge. He obviously wasn’t going to give up easily. She admired that in a person.

"Look, Ms. Vargas, I’m desperate. I’ve been searching for some­body on my own, but I keep running into dead ends.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his khakis and shrugged. "Just hear me out before you turn me down.”

Surely Selma wouldn’t have sent a total stranger to her door, let alone a serial murderer.

When she didn’t answer, his gaze shifted out to the sea and then slowly back to meet her eyes. "If you can’t take the case, is there anyone you’d recommend?”

Spending a few minutes listening to his story would give her some­thing to do other than roam through the house wondering how to stay sane while being suffocated by peace and quiet.

What would it hurt to hear him out? Maybe give him some advice?

She opened the door a bit wider and with a wave of her hand indi­cated the two wooden rockers side by side on the expansive covered porch.

"You can have a seat out there.”

His eyes widened when he caught a glimpse of her gun.

"Don’t worry. I’ve never shot anyone who didn’t deserve it.” She set the handgun on the table by the phone and joined him outside. By the time she crossed the porch, he’d chosen one of the rockers. She leaned against the low porch wall.

Kat couldn’t help but notice that his gaze swept the length of her bare legs before it slowly traveled up to meet her eyes.

"So, exactly who are you looking for, and why do you think you need to hire a P.I.?”

He stopped rocking, leaned forward, and rested his elbows on his knees. "You might as well sit down. This’ll take a few minutes.”

Chapter 2

TY CHANDLER HAD expected someone... well, someone larger anddefinitely sturdier. A female version of Columbo. Maybe Janet Reno. Certainly not this petite, exotic, and undeniably sensual young woman in a wafer-thin, white tank top and wrinkled plaid shorts. The top of her head barely came to his chin.

He waited as Kat Vargas gave him another slow once-over, maybe, fi­nally, deciding he wasn’t a serial killer, and slipped into the empty rocker beside him.

Her shoulder-length, jet-black hair glistened and moved every time she did. A slight smattering of golden freckles dusted the bridge of her button nose. But it was her eyes that arrested him most. They sparkled with an unspoken challenge, as if daring him not to even think about getting close.

He watched, unable to look away as she crossed her shapely legs and gingerly rested her bandaged hand in her lap. Selma Gibbs had explained that Kat was in town to house-sit and recoup from an injury, but if Selma knew any of the details, she hadn’t shared them.

From the moment the lovely Ms. Vargas opened the door, her expres­sion had remained guarded. There was an edge to her ready stance, a studied distance broken now and then by a glimpse of curiosity and a flash of warmth in her eyes.

His business had honed his people skills until he thought he could read most of them like a book, but Kat Vargas wasn’t giving anything away. He wondered if she was naturally wary, or if her experience as a P.I. had made her that way.

She remained silent, patiently waiting for him to begin. Ty shifted, glanced out at the ocean, trying to decide where to start.

He hadn’t driven up Lover’s Lane since high school, and he’d forgot­ten the magnificent view that stretched on and on from up here. Between the shore and the horizon, the deep blue-green ocean was dappled with frothy whitecaps. He caught himself wondering if the albacore were running.

He wasn’t exactly sure where to begin or how much Kat Vargas re­ally needed to know before he could convince her to help. He started at the beginning.

"Until a few months ago, I lived in Alaska. I moved up there right af­ter high school and stayed for nineteen years. Eventually I established my own fishing and hunting camp and grew the business. Three months ago, my mom, who still lived here in Twilight, called and told me she was dying.”

He felt the pain of that phone call again, the shock of the cold real­ity in his mom’s voice. Barbara Chandler, assertive, a born leader who was always larger than life, was mortal after all.

"The prognosis was six weeks. She only lasted three, which in many ways was a blessing.” He looked out at the ocean again. "Once Mom learned her illness was terminal, she refused more treatment and began to put her affairs in order.”

It was just like Barbara Chandler to want to be in control right up to the end. She directed while he sorted her personal belongings into boxes and told him to deliver them to close friends, thrift shops, and the local women’s shelters.

She even had a real estate agent waiting in the wings to sell the house.She’d taken charge of everything, not because she wanted to spare him, but more than likely because she didn’t trust him to do it the way she wanted it done.

Though Kat Vargas sat patiently, listening intently, he could see that she hadn’t relaxed. She struck him as someone who, like him, didn’t ordinarily like to sit still, let alone wait around for anything or anyone.

"What about your dad?” she asked.

"He died when I was fifteen.” There was nothing more he wanted to tell her about his dad. Thom Chandler had checked out of their lives a long time before he died.

"Both my parents are still living—in Hawaii.” She spoke softly, al­most as if thinking out loud.

Hawaii. That explained her striking, exotic look. Her golden-brown skin, the slight almond shape of her eyes.

"You’re lucky, then, to have them both.” He saw a flash of unspo­ken questions in her eyes—questions of someone who has never lost a parent.

How did you get through it?

What will I do when it happens?

What will life be without them?

But her concern had barely blossomed before he watched her hide it. Besides, he hadn’t come to philosophize. He’d come seeking help.

"My mom was very driven. Always in control. She’d been active around Twilight Cove all her life. President of the P.T.A., head of the Booster Club when I was in high school. She served on the boards for town beautification and the Twilight Historical Society for years.”

There had been standing room only at her memorial. She had lots of friends and associates, but she had never really communicated with him very well. She was better at giving orders than listening. Better at running organizations than holding a family together.

"One day, weak as she was, she insisted on going to the park to sit in the sun. She wanted to watch people doing ordinary, everyday things—all the things she’d never be able to do again. She wanted to watch the kids playing in the park.”

He’d bundled her up and taken her to Plaza Park on the bluff above Twilight Cove. The sun was shining, the air crystal clear after three days of rain. He’d never forget that day.

He bought ice-cream cones neither of them finished.

With a gesture unlike her, she took his hand and told him the secret she’d kept from him for nineteen years. It wasn’t the kind of last-breath, deathbed revelation of feature films—nothing as dramatic as that. Just a few words softly spoken on a sunny afternoon. Words that altered his life forever. Words that left his world totally shaken.

"You’re a father, you know.” Her voice was rough and dry. She’d worn a jewel-toned caftan, her baldness concealed beneath a garish, orange knit turban. Gulls screamed as they soared and dove overhead.

"You’re a father, you know.”

"What did you say, Mom?” He had wondered if the medication was af­fecting her mind.

"You have a child out in the world somewhere. Amy’s child. And yours.”

Kat Vargas had grown very still. Ty focused on the present, on the at­tractive young woman beside him.

"My mom confessed that my high school sweetheart had been preg­nant with my child when we broke up. Her name was Amy Simmons. She was from the other side of town, and she ran with a fast crowd, while I hung with the jocks. We dated our junior and senior years, but my mom never liked her.”

They’d lost their virginity to each other in the back of his Volkswagen van the night of the homecoming game. Back then, he thought they’d be together forever.

"During our senior year, Amy got into alcohol and drugs. I was a sev­enteen-year-old kid, in love, scared, confused. I couldn’t fight Amy’s addiction for her, so I broke up with her, hoping that might shake her up enough to make her stop.

"She ran away with a girlfriend before graduation and moved down to Southern California, where they met someone who took them to River Ridge, a compound in the Angeles National Forest. It was a phony drug rehab. They promised success using New Age techniques.”

Ty shoved his hand through his hair with a sigh. Kat listened in­tently, showing no reaction.

"I went after her, but she refused to come back. My mom was so glad it was over. I got in my van and headed north and didn’t stop driv­ing until I ended up in Alaska.

"Later, I tried to contact Amy through her parents, but they had moved and I never heard from them again.”

He’d lost Amy, and for a while lost himself in the wilderness. Then he’d picked up the pieces.

"I worked odd jobs, construction on log homes, a guide for outback tours. Eventually I started Kamp Kodiak, a fishing and hunting camp. I worked my ass off turning it into a lucrative business. Amy was out of my life for good, until my mom told me about our child.”

"How old?” Kat’s smooth, even voice startled him out of his rev­erie.

"I just turned thirty-seven.”

Her lips instantly curved into a half smile. She shook her head and rolled her eyes.

"Notyou. How old is your kid?”

"Nineteen.”

"Boy or girl?”

"I have no idea. All I know is that Mrs. Simmons told Mom about the pregnancy right after I left town. When I’d gone after Amy, she wasn’t showing yet. I had no idea.”

"So your mom knew all the time?”

"Yeah. She knew.”

"Why did she wait all these years to tell you? Why would she keep her own grandchild a secret?”

"Believe me, I’ve asked myself that a million times. She knew I’d do whatever it took to be with Amy. That I’d always be connected to her through our child. My mother wanted to spare me the heartache of ending up stuck with way more than I could handle.”

Kat Vargas leaned toward him. Rested her elbow on the arm of her chair, propped her chin in her hand. "Could you have handled it?”

"I’d have damn well tried. I’d have done something. It was my kid, for Christ’s sake.”

SATISFIED WITH HIS answer, Kat leaned back. She could see that he was emotionally drained. He rested his head against the chair and slowly set the rocker in motion.

That he was an outdoors man was evident in his rugged good looks, his deep tan, the not unattractive creases at the corners of his eyes that came from squinting against the sunlight.

He filled the rocker, made it seem insubstantial for a man of his height and build. His gaze slid past her as he focused on the ocean once again, staring out to sea with such longing that she had a feeling it was the way he’d look at a woman he hungered for.

She contented herself with studying the breadth of his shoulders, the way his polo shirt clung to his well-defined upper arms like a second skin.

Jake had told her to get out and meet someone interesting. Ty Chandlerwas that, but he was exactly the kind of guy she wasn’t looking for. Justin Parker had been handsome, too. Way too handsome. Her former fiancé was the kind of guy women openly admired.

She wasn’t going down that road again.

Her injured hand began to ache. She lightly rubbed the bandage, working her wrist back and forth. Chandler suddenly stopped rocking, walked over, and leaned against the low porch wall.

When he noticed the brass wind chimes lying on the railing, he picked them up and they clattered against one another. It only took him an instant to locate the empty hook in the ceiling above his head.

"Want me to hang this for you?”

"Please don’t!” Kat realized she had overreacted and softened her tone. "No, thanks. They were driving me crazy so I took them down.”

He set the wind chimes on the rail, went back to the rocker, and sat down. Leaning forward, he planted his elbows on his knees again and threaded his fingers together and stared into her eyes.

"So, do you think you can help me?”

"You’re not looking for one of those little dimpled cherubs on a Pampers commercial, you know. You’re going to end up with a nine­teen-year-old, somebody with baggage—and from what you’ve told me about the mother, probably plenty of it.

"Mom was on drugs and alcohol. The kid could have severe physi­cal and/or learning disabilities. Maybe even followed in her mom’s foot­steps.” She tapped her bare foot, speculating. "You don’t even know if your old girlfriend kept the kid or not. Maybe she gave the baby up for adoption. Maybe even made a little drug money that way.”

She saw him blanch. "I’m sorry for having to be so blunt, but you need to know you might be opening a real can of worms.”

"I’ve thought of that,” he admitted.

"All of it?”

He nodded, even more solemn. "I know it’ll be an adjustment.”

"To say the least.”

"Hey, I’ve been fortunate in my life. I hate to think there is a child of mine out in the world somewhere who needs me or what I can give him... or her. I just hope it’s not too late.”

Their eyes met and Kat found herself having to look away from the raw emotion on his face.

She doubted a man like Ty Chandler had been living like a monk since his breakup with a high school sweetheart. "How does your wife feel about all of this? What about your kids?”

He stopped rocking. "I was married for a while after moving to Alaska, but it only lasted five years. Victoria got sick of Alaska and of me devoting so much time to the business. I wanted to build a life, start a family. She wanted to move home to the East Coast and go back to college.”

He leaned on the arm of the chair and continued. "The Chandlers have a long history here in Twilight. We go back generations. I’m the last of the line. I want to find my child, whatever that might mean, and share our history.”

"I’ve seen these things go bad,” she warned, compelled to be totally honest. "Reunions like this aren’t the same as the ones shown on Oprah or Montel. Not everyone ends up happily reunited.” She had seen searches like this end in heartache. She hated getting caught up in any­thing that had to do with kids.

Parental abductions, guardianship and custody battles—those were the cases she’d handed over to Jake when they’d been working together in Long Beach. She made it her policy to stay away from anything to do with children because she didn’t have the heart for it.

Give her a cheating husband to track down and she was happy, but long-lost kids? She didn’t need to witness that kind of heartache. It hit too close to home.

"So, will you help me?”

Say no and send him on his way.

When she realized he was getting to her, Kat reminded herself that he didn’t specifically need her. There were countless P.I.s out there who would be happy to take his money. He could probably even find his child himself if he had the patience and knew where to look.

"You can do this yourself,” she suggested. "You can hook up with a service on the Internet, run a search, and eventually track down Amy Simmons, if not her child, maybe in a matter of hours.”

Ty shook his head. "I bought a book on how to find anyone any­place, and it’s not as easy as it sounds. I have Amy’s parents’ last known address, but that was a dead end. I can’t devote round-the-clock time to this because the new owner of Kamp Kodiak has asked me to stay on until the end of the year and help make the transition as smooth as possi­ble. I built up a lot of repeat visitors and he doesn’t want to lose them.”

"So where do you live now?”

"I moved back here for good. I’m hoping that Amy’s child... that our child... is somewhere in California. I run the Kamp Kodiak web­site and guest registration from here, but I’ve already had to make three trips back to Alaska in the past couple of months. So,”—he shrugged—"I’m anxious as hell, but the search has been slow going. It’s definitely not as simple as it looks in the book.”

"Hey, that’s why I make the big bucks.”

"Really?”

When she laughed, he realized she was joking and finally smiled again. It was such a slow, steady smile that it warmed her in places she hadn’t been warm in a long, long time.

Ty Chandler spelled trouble. She felt it in her bones. More specifi­cally, she felt it in her heart—a heart that, despite her best efforts not to notice, was letting her know that it hadn’t turned to stone after all.

Maybe it was her imagination, but whenever Ty Chandler looked at her, she thought he might be a little more than interested in something other than her investigative skills.

She’d have to be blind not to be aware of his good lucks, but it was his story and his desire to find his child that moved her most—but the worst thing she could do was take his case based on an emotional reac­tion to his story.

She rubbed the bandage on her hand, reminded of what happened the night she let herself feel sorry for Sandi Kline.

She held up her injured hand, waved it back and forth in front of him.

"I’d have to use the Internet, and I can’t type right now.”

His smile intensified into the eye-crinkling, heart-stirring kind of smile that made a few lucky actors major box office material.

"No problem. I took first place in the Twilight High typing con­test.”

Maybe it was the beautiful June day, or the fact that the sun was shin­ing and the birds were singing. Maybe her brain wasn’t used to all this pure, smog-free air. Maybe it was the thought of all the peace and quiet that really scared the hell out of her. Or the echo of Jake’s words— "You need more in your life than work, kung fu videos, and one-night stands.”

She wished Ty Chandler’s eyes weren’t shining with as much unre­lenting hope as they were warmth.

"You’re not lying about the typing, are you?”

He shook his head. "Nope. Besides, if I’m part of the search, I won’t have to keep bugging you about how it’s going.”

"You’re absolutely sure you want to do this?” She might very well be asking herself the same thing about having to work with him.

"I’ve never been more sure of anything in my whole life.”

She wished she could say the same.

"So when do we get started?” He was up and out of the chair and rar­ing to go.

"Started?”

"Searching.”

"Did I say I was taking the case?”

"You haven’t said you wouldn’t.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. "I just got up. I need a shower and a cup of coffee in the worst way.”

"But you will take the case?”

"Against my better judgment.”

No doubt women weren’t in the habit of turning him down.

She looked at her left hand again, a painful reminder of the last time she let her emotions get wrapped up with a client’s needs and wants. But she was a big girl, and when it came to protecting her heart, she could be tough as nails if she had to.

"I call all the shots,” she warned.

"Right. You’re the boss.”

"Before we do anything, I’ll go over my retainer fee.”

"Great.” He actually looked thrilled to be spending his money.

Jake was going to throw a fit when he found out she’d taken on a cli­ent.

"How about I go get some coffee started?” Ty suggested. "How do you like it?”

"Strong and hot.” She didn’t realize how that must have sounded to him until she looked up and caught him smiling.

"I think I can handle that.” He stepped aside to let her pass.

That’s just what I’m afraid of.

As she walked into the house, she hoped he hadn’t noticed her blush.