“What are you doing here?” she asked him, annoyed to realize that she didn’t sound at all casual. Her voice was irritatingly shrill. She couldn’t quite seem to control it around him.

“Trying not to slap you silly,” he responded irritably.

“Why? What the hell is the matter with you?” she asked. She was genuinely puzzled, and her tone was curious.

“You,” he said simply, snatching his glasses from his face as he stared at her, eyes as sharp as green gems. “You!” he repeated, and he appeared restless and angry, running his fingers through his hair in an aggravated manner. “Damn you, Madison, what the hell are you doing here?”

Startled by the depth of his anger, she replied, “Excuse me, this is my job. I belong here. Actually, at the moment, I’m being exceptionally good. I’m working gratis for the community. You got angry when I was involved in your work. Well, I’ve taken myself far away from it, and far from you, so just what the hell is your problem?” She was proud of herself. She had spoken in a very even tone.

“It didn’t occur to you to tell anyone where you were going?” he demanded furiously.

“Darryl knows where I am—he has Carrie Anne.”

“Darryl! That’s it?”

“Wait, now, let me think. Should I have told the father of my child—who would be taking care of that child!—where I was going, or should I have thought, no, no, let me tell the stepbrother I haven’t seen in more than five years? The one who isn’t satisfied with a single thing I do?”

He did grab her then. He reached for her arm with a sudden movement that was violent in its sheer speed, drawing her closer to him, as if he needed to make sure that she could hear his every word. “No, Madison, not me. Maybe your sister, your father, someone else.”

She tried to pull free, but he wouldn’t let her go. She opted against the indignity of struggling.

“I left quite suddenly. I intended to call Dad when the shoot was done today, to let him know I’d be at his place, since he’s back up in Miami getting ready for your father’s show. But then, my father isn’t down here acting like Henry the Eighth.”

“Irresponsible little bitch!” he muttered.

Madison was completely stunned by the depth of the anger in his voice. She stiffened and forced herself to remain cool and collected. “Really? I’m so sorry you don’t approve. But I need to be responsible to Carrie Anne, not to you. And I would have called my family—”

“I thought I’d made you aware that there’s a serial killer on the loose!”

Madison held her breath, feeling as if icy waves of fury were cascading over her and giving her new strength. “There’s always a serial killer on the loose somewhere, isn’t there? I mean, isn’t that why you have your job?”

“This is different and you damned well know it.”

“So how did you find me?”

“I called everyone—including Darryl.”

Madison bit into her lower lip and sighed. “Look, you didn’t want me involved. I’m staying away.”

“Madison, damn it, they’re all redheads. Every last one of the victims—”

“They’re redheads, and they’re women, and they’re young. And I have the intelligence to be careful, Kyle.”

He frowned. “You knew they were all redheads?”

“You just told me so.”

“But you knew before I told you.”

“The girl in the vision I had was a redhead. That’s all I knew. Kyle, I can’t stop living because I’m a young woman with red hair!”

“Damn you, Madison—” he began, but he broke off, wincing, because Jaime was calling out to them. “Agent Montgomery?” Jaime came hurrying over. He was obviously concerned. “I know how important your work is, Lieutenant, but if your conversation could wait just a few minutes more…We’re ready for the next shots, and we’re losing our light.”

“I think the agent is done,” Madison said.

“No, he isn’t done,” Kyle said, staring at her hard, his dark lenses back in place. “But I can wait,” he added politely.

“Don’t you need to get back to Miami? Follow up on some clues?”

“I’m with you, Madison. Talking with the psychic. I am working.”

“Madison?” Jaime said anxiously.

“I’m ready,” she said, staring at Kyle.

He walked back to join the others. Madison was painfully aware of him, standing with his arms crossed over his bare chest, watching as the shoot continued.

He made her feel awkward. Like a little kid again, trying to play dress-up, trying to be beautiful, mature, impressive.

Jaime started sighing.

Hector went into a fury of sand-dusting, which seemed to make everything worse.

“Come on, Madison, we’re losing the light. Remember, this is for the hopes and dreams of lots of people!” Michelle said, wrinkling her nose. “I had help, Madison. My mama was on welfare. I’m not. We’re working to make people believe they can create a better tomorrow.”

“Sí, sí,” Jaime said. “Good speech, but, Madison, I don’t want a militant look here. We’re not burning bras. Right now, we’re going for soft. Sexy.”

“All she has to do to look sexy is be awake,” Michelle said, complimenting her chosen model.

“She’d be sexy as all hell eyes closed, sound asleep,” George added in a husky tone.

“Play with the camera, play with it!” Jaime reminded her. “Make love to it, yes…?”

She wanted to kill Kyle. This was an important shoot. She had to forget that he was there. She had to be completely professional. She didn’t know why Kyle made her feel as if she were a little girl, pretending she knew what she was doing. Somehow, she had to forget him!

Sure.

And so she began to use the fact that he was there. She would never be able to laugh and play and flirt with Kyle. She might as well be seductive through the camera.

She hoped she could make him suffer.

She played with the camera. She laughed, smiled, pouted, posed. She felt the luxury of the silk in her hands, felt the sun, the sand, the sheer sensuality of the day shimmering around her. The sun, sinking against the horizon. Touching, feeling. She was damned well going to be sexy. She was going to show him what he’d chosen to throw away all his life.

At last the light was gone. By that time, though, Jaime was as happy as a clam. Michelle, too, was delighted, Hector was assuring her that she’d just made him bisexual, and George was sweating.

Kyle was completely impassive.

Hector slipped a robe over her shoulders as she took a bottled water from an ice chest as they wrapped up. She knew that Kyle was behind her.

“I don’t know why you hung around. It’s boring for onlookers. Sorry, I guess there was something you wanted. Or did you come all the way back down here to yell at me for not letting more people know I’d be gone a couple of days?”

She swallowed a long drink of her water and looked at him.

His arms were still crossed over his chest; there was no sun left, but he still had those damn glasses on.

“We can talk later. Your friends and admirers want to celebrate a successful shoot and get something to eat.”

“Are you referring to my professional associates?” she inquired politely.

“Yeah, the gay guys, the woman and the tech with his tongue hanging in the sand. Them. Your professional associates.”

“Is George’s tongue really in the sand? How sweet,” Madison murmured pleasantly.

“You just might wind up with the wrong man drooling after you, Madison,” Kyle warned.

“And then again, there are those men who are completely unaffected,” she murmured. “Excuse me, I’d like to change.”

She brushed past him, hurrying up to the small house on the beach that belonged to a friend of Michelle’s.

Michelle came in to collect the bathing suits used in the shoot and help her change. Michelle, dressed in a casual, brilliantly colored sarong, was shaking her head in amusement. “My, my.”

“My, my, what?”

“That boy, he’d have been fine on the poster, as well. He’s a sexy man.”