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  “Furthermore,” Paul continued, “when I insisted on storing duplicates of your company’s documents after Steven’s death, I should have made sure to review them then.”

  Jenny wrapped her arms around her waist, wishing she would have spent those few extra minutes this morning searching for her sweater. She was bone-cold. She hugged herself tighter and tried to concentrate on something—anything—that could distance herself from what her brother was saying. From the moment she’d left her mother’s, her emotions had propelled her forward, but hearing Steven’s name spoken out loud so many times today was taking its toll. She wanted nothing better than to go back home, crawl into bed, and pull her comforter over her head. But that wouldn’t stop tomorrow from arriving . . . or Mr. Jared Worth. No, she was going to have to figure this out today, heartache or no heartache.

  “But I still don’t understand how I could have a partner I’ve never heard of.”

  Paul leaned back in his chair, looking very much like their dad. Except her dad still smiled at her and teased her. Somewhere between Little League and law school, her brother had lost his sense of humor.

  Several seconds ticked by before he said, “You’re absolutely certain you don’t recall ever hearing the name Jared Worth before?”

  “No. . . .” But there was something slightly . . . familiar about his name. On further thought, she’d probably heard it on the news when they were discussing a recent escapee from the mental hospital.

  Paul shifted forward, propped his elbows on the top his desk, and pressed the tips of his fingers together. His gold cuff links sparkled in his desk’s high polish. “Let me try to explain this once more. Your initial start-up costs were provided by a loan.”

  “Yes.” She wasn’t that dense. “From the bank.”

  Instead of saying Jennifer, he just gave her the look. And that look was just as effective and just as annoying as hearing the word out loud.

  “As I recall, you didn’t obtain a bank loan until some ten months into the start of your business.”

  “It was a year,” she said, certain of at least that one fact. She remembered it perfectly. Steven had come back from his meeting at the bank all smiles and laughter. He’d scooped her into his arms, twirled her about. One year, babe. One year to the day we’ve been in business. And with this new loan, I’ve guaranteed us a sound start to the second.

  Her laughter had been as free and joyous as his. They’d celebrated by having dinner on the beach, and later, after the sun had disappeared and the only remnants of the fire they’d built had been a small pile of orange coals, they’d made love. It had been one of a hundred perfect nights she’d spent in his arms, and its memory was both unbearably painful and unthinkable to forget.

  “All right, a year. So for the twelve months preceding, where did you think the capital was coming from to run Blue Sky?”

  She hadn’t thought. Steven always took care of the financial side of the business while Jenny concentrated on the bookings and office work. “I . . .”

  Her brother pinched the bridge of his nose and let out another sigh.

  She didn’t know which were worse: the sighs or the Jennifers.

  “I don’t know what else I can tell you, Jennifer.”

  The Jennifers had it. By one.

  He unsteepled his fingers and sorted through the small stack of papers on the edge of his desk. Locating the document he’d been looking for, he slid it across his desk toward her. “When Blue Sky Air was formed, you and Steven signed a loan agreement with one Jared Worth.” He gestured to the document in front of her.

  Could he stop saying that odious man’s name?

  “The loan was in the amount of one hundred thousand dollars.”

  “One hundred . . .” André’s perfect salad didn’t feel so perfect now. She felt sick.

  “One hundred thousand dollars.”

  More than sick.

  “The terms of the agreement were such that the entire balance was to be paid in full by the end of three years.” Paul paused, glanced back down to the papers, flipping through several sheets. “You know, it’s really rather remarkable.”

  “What is?” she asked, though she didn’t really care. “It’s an interest-free loan. Very generous of him. I guess if there’s anything positive to be gained from today, it’s knowing that all you owe him is the original amount of—”

  “Please, don’t say it again.” It was a mountain of a sum. Mount Everest to be exact.

  How in the world was she ever going to get that kind of money? Even if the amount was in pesos, she’d have a hard time coming up with it.

  “What if I . . .” She paused. “What if I can’t pay him back?”

  “Then he’ll become your partner. Your equal partner.” For several seconds, Paul looked at her. “Maybe your having a partner isn’t such a bad idea.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  His gaze was unwavering, and Jenny felt herself begin to squirm under his scrutiny.

  “All I’m saying—”

  “I know what you’re saying. You think I can’t run Blue Sky Air on my own. Well, I can. I am .” Blue Sky Air was all she had left of Steven. She wasn’t going to let anyone take it away from her. It had been their dream. Hers and Steven’s. “Mr. Worth will have nothing to do with my company.”

  “It was only a suggestion, Jelly Belly,” her brother said in a soft voice. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  The childhood nickname brought a fleeting smile and a flood of memories. She’d long ago lost count of how many times her big brother had been there for her. “You didn’t,” she lied.

  For a moment, Paul didn’t say anything. “I’ve sunk a lot of capital into the construction of the new offices, but maybe I could—”

  “No,” she said, putting on a brave face. “But thanks. I mean that.”

  Too many times her family had bailed her out of one situation after another. She owed it to Steven—to herself—to find her own way out of this mess. Twenty-six years old. It was time to grow up.

  She took a deep breath. “Is that everything?”

  “Except for one detail.”

  She was almost afraid to ask. “Which is?”

  “If you are unable to repay Mr. Worth in full by the date specified, as an equal partner, he could force a liquidation of assets to reclaim his investment.”

  “Liquidation of assets?” What was he saying? Liquidation of . . . Her gaze shot up, collided with his.

  “Yes, Jenny, the plane.” His eyes softened, his voice dropped a notch lower. “The property.”

  “No.”

  Foolishly, she’d thought this day couldn’t get any worse. How wrong she’d been. She gripped her stomach tighter. “You mean I could lose Nana’s property?”

  At Paul’s nod, she felt the start of tears. She blinked, trying to will them away. She turned from her brother and fought for composure. Through the window, Hidden Lake glistened in the unusually bright May sun. As she stared at the achingly familiar water, she felt her anguish grow. She could not lose her property. She would not. Nana had left it to her so she and Steven could start their business. But it was more than that. That house was a part of her. While her brother and sister had been busy with other pursuits, Jenny had spent time on the sandy beach with her grandmother. Building sand castles, wading in the lake’s cool water. No matter how tough life got, she could always find solace on that little piece of land.

  Hearing what her brother was saying was too much. She needed time. Time to think this through and more time in which to repay Mr. Worth.

  But time was exactly what she didn’t have. Because if what Jared Worth had said was true, he’d be back on her doorstep tomorrow.

  Anna Adams stood in the middle of her master bedroom and listened to the din of the people below. She drew in a slow breath and fought to find her usual unruffled demeanor. But even as the voices changed, grew louder and slightly impatient, she knew they weren’t the cause of this uncharacteristic apprehensio
n. Her gaze strayed to the phone by the bed. She took a step toward it, only to stop short. What good would another call do?

  A glance around the room assured her that everything was in its place. The intricately carved four-poster bed gleamed from a recent polish; faint traces of the lemony wax still hung in the air. Pressed Egyptian linens graced the bed. Silk curtains billowed around the windows. On the far wall an antique armoire housed a flat screen TV, and on the wall nearest the bedroom door hung the tapestry she and Phillip had purchased a little over thirteen years ago, during their honeymoon in France. A sharp pang of longing hit her, and she quickly looked away.

  A knock sounded at the bedroom door.

  “Yes?”

  Marie, their longtime housekeeper and cook, entered. Spotting her employer by the bay window, she broke out into a huge grin. “They’re ready.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be right down.”

  “This is so exciting.”

  Anna tried to answer, but the words stuck in her throat. For over three months, she’d been looking forward to this day. She’d prepared for it, planned for it, shopped for it, but now that it was here, she wished she could sweep it away. Looking at Marie, she longed for some of that same excitement but knew it was as elusive as a peaceful night’s sleep. All she could do was nod.

  “It’s too bad Dr. Adams couldn’t be here.”

  Dr. Adams. To Marie, it didn’t matter that both she and her husband were physicians. For her, Phillip would always be the only doctor in the house. “Y-yes.”

  “Your house. In a magazine.” Marie clasped her hands together in front of her, her wide grin still in place. “I’ve told my whole family.”

  “I have, too.” Anna felt a ghost of a smile hovering as she caught a tiny sliver of her housekeeper’s enthusiasm. “And thank you again for all your hard work. The house looks beautiful.”

  Marie blushed. “It wasn’t me. You have worked so hard.” With that, she left, quietly closing the door behind her.

  For several heartbeats, Anna stared at the closed door. She knew she should move, walk forward, walk out and greet the magazine crew, yet she lingered. Slowly, she made her way to the full-length mirror in her bedroom and gave her appearance one final check.

  Her straight-legged black trousers and lace blouse with mandarin collar and ruffle trim was stylish without being stuffy. Instead of her usual French twist, she opted for a softer look, loosely gathering her dark blonde hair at the nape of her neck. A few strands floated free.

  Like her house, she was picture-perfect. True, she wasn’t a girl of twenty any longer, but at thirty-four, Anna prided herself on her appearance. A strict diet and even stricter exercise schedule kept her body toned and trimmed. Her skin was still as smooth and as soft as ever. But that perfection did not come without effort. Careful planning, excessive preparation, and dedicated endurance—that was her mantra. Anything could be accomplished if you worked hard enough and long enough.

  Knowing she couldn’t stall any longer, she left the bedroom and made her way down the hall, stopping at her son’s door. She knocked once, waited a handful of seconds, then entered. Just as she suspected, he was sitting on his bed, earphones in, listening to his iPod. Even from across the room, she could hear the music. “Cody?”

  He didn’t answer.

  Crossing the room, she gave his sneakered foot a gentle shake, fighting to keep the frown from her face. How many times had she asked him not to wear his shoes in the house? But she knew if she said something, they’d end up in an argument. And that was the last thing she wanted today. She couldn’t stop the frown from forming when she once more caught sight of his blue hair. “Cody?” she said again, this time pulling out one of his earphones. The music blared louder.

  He shot her a look. “What?”

  “Please turn your music down.”

  He took forever to comply.

  “The camera crew is here.”

  “So?”

  “They’re ready for us.”

  “So?” he said again.

  She counted to ten. “It’s time for us to head downstairs.”

  “No.” He reached for the sketch pad next to him and flipped it open.

  “Cody—”

  “I told you, I’m not doing it.”

  “Come on, Cody. It’ll be fun. It’s not every day your house gets picked to be in a magazine.” She heard the imploring note in her voice and stopped. She’d read enough parenting books to know that pleading would get her nowhere. She started again. “The camera crew would like our family in a few of the pictures—”

  “Family. Right. Dad’s not here.”

  “You know he can’t be. We’ve been over this a dozen times. He’s working.”

  “He’s gone.”

  “I know it seems that way, honey, but Doctors Without Borders is an amazing organization, and your father—”

  “Whatever,” he mumbled before putting his earphones back in.

  Anna stood there, staring down at her son. They’d had this same discussion more times than she could count, and each time, it ended the same way: with him shutting her out just as clearly as if he’d slammed a door in her face. Part of her wanted to force him out of that bed and make him come downstairs with her. But what good would that do? He would only continue to be sullen and angry, and wouldn’t that just make for a lovely family—minus one dad—photo in a magazine read by millions? The best she could hope for was that when the camera crew made it to his room, he would be in a better mood.

  “All right, Cody,” she said, as if this had been her intention all along. “But be ready when the camera crew and I come up here in a little while.”

  She left without waiting for a response. Lately, she found that to be easier. She didn’t know how many more whatever s and fines she could take. She was halfway down the stairs when Marie met her. The housekeeper handed her the cordless phone.

  “It’s your mother. She says it’s important.”

  “Thanks.” Anna took the phone. At least she could share today’s excitement with one of her family. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Anna, thank heavens. For a moment I thought you weren’t home.”

  Not home. Right. Anna smiled into the phone. “You should see the new Aubusson rug I found for the living room. It’ll look amazing in the photos—”

  “It’s Jenny.”

  “Jenny?” What did her younger sister have to do with today?

  “Have you spoken to her?”

  “No.”

  “We were having lunch and a . . . situation came up with her business.”

  Anna fought hard not to roll her eyes and harder still to keep from saying, And what else is new? If it wasn’t one thing it was another with her younger sister.

  After a small pause, her mother said, “I’m worried about her.”

  “You’re always worried about her.”

  “Now, Anna, you know that’s not true.”

  The noise from the magazine crew grew louder, and Marie reappeared at the bottom of the staircase. Anna motioned that she’d be right down. “I’m sorry, Mom, but I just don’t have time for this right now.”

  Moments later, Anna clicked off the phone and made her way down the stairs. Alone.

  THREE

  Jared tore down the deserted road as if demons were on his heels. He laid hard on the throttle, pushed the bike to its limit. The weathered asphalt beneath him became a blur of faded gray, and the broken centerlines blended into one continuous yellow line. He blew past road signs and speed limits, gas stations and rest areas, giving them no more attention than he gave the landscape. Where he was headed—or not headed—didn’t matter.

  As the sun became a weaker glow of yellow and the wind picked up, a chill penetrated his jacket and stiffened his fingers, but still he didn’t stop. No matter how hard he pushed, he wasn’t able to outrun his thoughts.

  What in the hell had Steven been thinking? How could a man go from being a top gun to flying sissy-assed sea-planes for t
ourists?

  He didn’t think, that’s how. And Jared was certain if a drunk driver hadn’t ended Steven’s life, he would have been back in the cockpit of a fighter jet going at Mach speed by now.

  A man’s got to settle down at some point, Worth, Steven had often said.

  Yeah, well, from everything Jared had seen, settling down and giving up were one and the same.

  Ah, man, you don’t understand. Jenny’s different. She’s—

  Exactly like all the rest. Although Jared had to give her credit. He’d seen a lot of pampered princesses in his day, but Jenny had it down to an art. The flash of confusion, the soft puckering of her forehead, those pouty, full lips . . . all of it designed to make a man fall under her spell.

  But it wouldn’t work with him. He’d let himself fall for that kind of spell once. And it had been a disaster. He had never done anything as rash as Steven; he’d never gotten engaged. But for a few short months he’d let himself believe in the impossible. Believe he could be like the other guys. Believe he could be a part of something more.

  What a crock of shit.

  The rain turned hard, pummeled him. He flicked on his headlight then downshifted through a corner. It took him a moment before he realized where he was: right back where he started. He pulled onto the road’s wide shoulder and shifted into neutral. The bike purred with a low growl as he took off his helmet and ran his hand through his hair.

  From his spot on the low hill, he had a near perfect view of the town below. If you could even call Hidden Lake a town. Two short blocks of Victorian-inspired, lattice-dripping, rainbow-painted businesses that would have been appropriate in a child’s theme park but looked only garish and out of place here. Businesses with names like John Dough’s Pizza, the Best Little Hairhouse in Town, the Way We Wore, and a drive-through coffee stand called the Bean Counter.

  He swore silently under his breath but knew it was his own fault he was stuck in this town. He’d blown it with Jenny; he saw that now. All he wanted was to collect his money and get out of town. He should have just told her that, but it seemed abrupt.