“Just like my—” he’d begun.

“Your what?” she’d asked with a smile.

“Son,” he said quietly, looking away. “Kyle. He can draw like a son of a gun.”

“I didn’t know that,” she’d murmured, straining to maintain her smile.

“My point exactly. Kyle doesn’t like to let people know he can draw. That might make him too much like his old man.”

“I’m sure he loves you very much.”

“Well, I guess you can love someone and not want to be like them.”

“Maybe. What about Rafe?”

Roger had shrugged. “Rafe’s a great kid, but he can’t manage a stick figure. He’s a mathematician, like his mother.”

“Ah. Well…”

And then she’d managed to change the subject.

She sat up now and slid off the bed. She stepped out of her shoes, slipped off her skirt, blouse and bra, and dug under her pillow for her nightgown, a tailored cotton confection from Victoria’s Secret. As she did up the buttons, she caught sight of herself in the mirror over her dresser.

For a moment she felt a terrible chill and stood dead still.

Oh, God, she did look like her mother! So much so that it was really frightening.

She turned away from the mirror and curled into bed. She put her head down and reminded herself that her life was good. She adored her daughter; she had a good job and good times, and everything was great.

Everything was great, and yet…

All right, there was a lot that sucked, too. Somehow, she hadn’t noticed that. Not until Kyle came striding back into her life tonight.

She prayed for sleep. Kyle was here. He would help solve whatever crime he was here to investigate—or the killer he was after would move on and remain a mystery to everyone. One way or the other, Kyle would leave. Maybe he would keep coming home for holidays, now that he’d been here, but he wasn’t really a part of her life again.

She tossed and turned.

Kyle was here. After her dream. Reporting to work on Monday. And Jimmy was going to pick her up on Monday. She wished she knew what was going on.

She wanted to sleep; she didn’t want to sleep. She was afraid she would dream. She shivered. One way or the other, she had to sleep.

Eventually she did.

And no dreams invaded her slumber.

She loved weekends. Adored them. Not that her schedule was such a brutal one—she knew many women who worked much harder!—but she did have a child in kindergarten, and she did wake up at six-thirty most mornings to get Carrie Anne to school on time. That made Saturdays and Sundays great days, when the alarm didn’t buzz rudely in her ear and she could sleep as late as she wanted.

Not that morning.

It was as if her eyelids had been fixed with robotic alarms themselves. They just suddenly sprang open, and she was wide-wake, staring around her room, where light was just beginning to filter in.

She closed her eyes and wiggled down into the covers. She told herself how deliciously comfortable her bed was. How she could sleep for hours if she wished.

No good.

After a minute, she sat up. She glanced at her watch and swore softly at herself in disgust. It wasn’t even six yet. She wondered bitterly if there wasn’t some silly system inside of her that wanted to go out on the boat with Kyle.

Too bad. She wasn’t going. Carrie Anne was still sleeping, after all.

Thank God for Carrie Anne. Her daughter would keep her from foolishly seeking out the company of Kyle Montgomery.

She had barely started the water running before she heard a little voice.

“Mommy, can I come in with you?”

She froze, then pulled the curtain back as the water beat down around her. “Hi, sweetie. What are you doing awake? Did I wake you up? I’m sorry.”

Carrie Anne, large blue eyes wide, solemnly shook her head. She lifted her hands and grimaced. “I woke up. Just like that.” She frowned. “There isn’t school, is there? We wouldn’t have come down to Grandpa’s place if there was school, right?”

“No, there isn’t school. Put your shower cap on and come on in.”

Carrie Anne squiggled out of her Barbie nightgown and undies and piled her blond hair into a cap. Madison helped tuck her daughter’s curls beneath the elastic rim before bringing Carrie Anne in with her. They both sudsed up and rinsed off, Madison making sure Carrie Anne did her toes and ears, before Carrie Anne asked her, “What are we doing today, Mommy?”

Madison hesitated. She turned off the shower, reached for towels and swung Carrie Anne from the shower to the plush rug at its side.

She took all that time, but then it seemed that she talked before she really thought. “Want to go out on the boat?”

“With Grandpa?” Carrie Anne asked.

Madison shook her head, wrapping a towel around her daughter’s. “I don’t think Grandpa’s coming. He’s really into one of his books right now. But an old friend is down…He used to be my stepbrother.”

“How can somebody used to be your brother?” Carrie Anne asked, truly mystified.

Madison opened her mouth to answer, then shrugged. “Well, once his dad and my mom were married. So we were what people call stepbrother and stepsister. But you know that my mommy died—”

“And went to heaven,” Carrie Anne supplied.

“And went to heaven,” Madison agreed softly. “And then my stepbrother and I didn’t really see too much of one another anymore. Anyway, his name is Kyle. And you know Kyle’s daddy, Roger. You know his brother, Rafe.”

“He’s Uncle Rafe’s brother?” Carrie Anne asked, pleased. Rafe was always great with the kids. Madison often wondered why Kyle’s older brother had never married and had his own kids. Of course, he, like the rest of them, had watched such a multitude of marriages go wrong. Rafe had spent a few years in New York, on Wall Street, and in that little bit of time, he’d made a fortune. Now he was based in Miami, where he played at the stock market and being an entrepreneur.

“Actually, he’s Uncle Rafe’s half brother,” she said. “But we usually just say brother or sister, because except for Auntie Kaila and me, we were all half sisters and brothers or stepsisters and brothers.” She was confusing her daughter, and she smiled. “Honey, Kyle is related to Uncle Rafe. But he’s not really like Uncle Rafe.”

“He’s not nice?” Carrie Anne said with a frown.

“No, no, he’s just different. You know, the way Aunt Kaila and I are different.”

Carrie Anne shook her head. “You and Auntie Kaila look just alike, Mommy.”

“Right—but we’re different.”

“You act different.”

“Yeah.”

“You act happy. Most the time. Auntie Kaila doesn’t.”

Madison frowned, looking at her daughter. She acted happy? Life was a thrill a minute. But it was true that Kaila hadn’t seemed particularly happy lately. Madison wondered what was so wrong, that a five-year-old could intuitively sense a problem.

“Don’t be silly,” she told Carrie Anne. “Auntie Kaila has a beautiful home, a supernice husband and three great, cute little kids just like you. She’s happy.”

“I don’t think so,” Carrie Anne said, then let it drop. “Let’s go on the boat!” she enthused suddenly.

“Okay…then go get your bathing suit on, the new one with the matching cover-up—”

“I will, I will, I know, the sun can be murder,” Carrie Anne said, smiling.

Madison nodded. “I’ll get dressed myself and see you in a few minutes.”

“You should wear your new bathing suit, too, Mommy,” Carrie Anne advised. “The one with the matching cover-up.” At five, Carrie Anne already loved clothes. She took good care of her own and liked to advise Madison on hers.

“Okay,” Madison agreed. “Let’s get to it, then.”

Fifteen minutes later, she was dressed in her new turquoise-and-gold two-piece from Bianca, along with a sleeveless thigh-length cover-up, and ready with a bag filled with snorkels and masks, suntan lotion, and clothing to change into for both her and Carrie Anne when the sun and salt became too brutal to bear anymore. The boat was complete with a shower in the head, so she wouldn’t have to suffer the salt. She packed several books, her own CD player and headphones and Carrie Anne’s tape recorder and tapes.