"Is that what we're calling it?"

He smiled. "You're more alike than either of you realize."

Because they were twins. There was a connection. At least there had been.

"How does it work?" he asked. "Do you just play out of New York? Are you with an orchestra? I don't know anything about what you do."

It was a simple question that might have been brought on by casual interest. Nothing more. Yet she felt both flustered and pressured.

"I, um, usually book for individual nights. I can do a series in a city, as well. I've played with different orchestras in the past. For a season or part of a season. But I-" Her chest tightened and not because Wyatt was so good-looking. "I'm not playing anymore. I can't."

"You're a little young to retire."

"I haven't retired. I just..." She didn't want to tell him, didn't want him to be ashamed of her. Yet she couldn't seem to hold in the words. "I can't play. I have panic attacks."

He looked at her as if he didn't understand the words.

"They started last year," she said in a rush. "I was so tired. I wanted a break and I was looking forward to doing nothing for a few weeks. But Lisa wanted to book me on a special summer tour. I got upset and sort of faked a panic attack. She totally backed off. I know it was wrong. I know the mature thing to do was tell her the truth, right? I'm an adult. It's my life, but it's just not that easy."

She grasped the glass in both hands and stared at the contents. It was better than looking at him.

"I faked a couple more attacks, just to get her off my back. But then one day an attack happened on its own and I couldn't control it. I guess I'd gotten so good at faking them that they became real. They got worse and worse and now they control me. I barely got through the final week of my schedule and I collapsed at my last performance."

She ducked her head as shame rushed through her. She felt the heat on her cheeks. As much as she tried to forget what had happened, she relived the experience over and over again.

"I'm so ashamed. I don't know what to do. I've been to a therapist, who has tried to help. I know in my head that as long as I believe this is the only way I can get power, I can't get better. But I don't know how to change how I feel. And what if I can't play again? This is all I know. It's who I am. What will I be without that?"

Wyatt regretted bringing up the subject of her playing more than he could say. Now he was faced with an obviously upset Claire and he had no idea what to do or tell her. This was completely foreign to him-not just female and emotional, but nothing he'd ever experienced.

"Maybe, uh, if you saw, you know, someone else," he mumbled. "Another therapist."

"I guess I could try. I just don't know."

She looked small and broken, which made him feel like crap. In typical guy-speak, he wanted to tell her to ignore the problem and it would eventually go away. But he knew that wouldn't help.

"I hate feeling helpless," she said. "Weak."

Weak he could handle, he thought with relief. He was strong and tough. He could protect her. He could offer to...

He put on the mental brakes and did a one-eighty. Protect her? Where had that come from? He didn't want to protect any female, except for Amy. And maybe Nicole because she was his friend. But not romantically. He didn't get involved-ever.

Sex was fine. He liked sex, looked forward to it. He understood it. But caring, feeling and anything else emotional? No way. He knew the disaster that could result. He came from a long line of men who totally screwed up when it came to women. Drew and his ex-wife were only the latest illustrations.

"To be honest," Claire said, "Jesse's call came at a perfect time. Not that I wouldn't have come no matter what. I would have. But I'm kind of hiding out from my manager and Nicole's surgery gave me the perfect reason to disappear. Is that terrible?"

He thought about how she'd totally accepted his daughter, learning sign language and listening patiently as Amy slowly worked to speak clearly. He thought about how she'd kept showing up with Nicole, despite her sister's ill temper. He remembered her sitting at the piano, playing as if it was as important to her as breathing. How her gift and abilities had stunned him.

"It's not terrible," he said. "Everyone needs a place to go when things get hard."

"According to Nicole, they're not hard for me at all."

"She doesn't know everything."

"She thinks she does."

"She's wrong," he said, staring into her blue eyes. There was something there, a hint of sadness, but something else. Something he couldn't place. Interest? Passion?

Talk about projecting what he wanted to see.

Still, he found himself wanting to hold her. To put his arms around her and be the rock she needed for a while. Of course there was also a part of him that wanted to drag her close and kiss her until they were both breathless.

Claire smiled. "Thanks for listening. It helped."

"Good. Want to stay for dinner?"

The invitation had come from nowhere. He was rewarded by a slow smile that heated his blood.

"I'd love to."

NICOLE TOLD HERSELF she wasn't actually watching the clock. What did she care if Claire was taking a long time to return Amy. It wasn't as if she was worried or even cared. Claire was nothing to her.

Still, as the clock in the great room ticked along, she found herself getting nervous and thinking about accidents and car jackings.

"You're being stupid," she muttered to herself. "If something bad had happened, you would have heard by now."

Just then, someone knocked on the front door.

Nicole pushed herself into a standing position and started toward the door. She wasn't moving very quickly and the person knocked again before she could get there.

"I'm coming," she yelled, annoyance sliding over worry. "Hang on a sec."

Expecting to see a uniformed police officer or sheriff, she could only stare at the well-dressed older woman standing in front of her.

"Who are you?" the other woman asked coldly.

"No one who is going to answer that question," Nicole told her. "You must have the wrong house."

"Is Claire Keyes here?"

Nicole hesitated a second before saying, "Not at the moment."

"But this is where she disappeared to?" Her dark gaze moved over Nicole before dismissing her. Her red lips thinned. "You're the sister, I presume."

Nicole felt no need to confirm or deny. "Who are you?"

"Lisa Whitney. I'm Claire's manager."

With that, the other woman swept into the house. Nicole didn't think she'd healed enough to physically throw the other woman out, so she closed the door and followed her into the great room.

Lisa shrugged out of her tailored coat, revealing a slim body, quality clothing in neutral colors and a handbag with a designer label. Nicole's idea of high fashion was a cashmere blend twin set, so she didn't recognize the shoes, but would guess they cost as much as a decent used car. Lisa's short brown hair was expertly styled, her makeup suited her face and the gold earrings, watch and necklace were probably real and 18 karat. Nicole pretty much hated her on sight.

Lisa draped her coat over the back of a chair and looked around. "She's really staying here?" The tone of the question implied this place wouldn't be much better than sleeping in a car.

"In my house, you mean? Yes. She's staying here."

"I see. What about practice? I don't see a piano. Is she taking classes?"

"Not that it's your business, but there's a piano downstairs."

Lisa looked at her. "Everything about Claire is my business. How much is she practicing? Four hours a day works best. She can get by on three and much more than five doesn't help anyone." She paused expectantly.

Nicole didn't know what to say. Until last night, she hadn't been sure Claire was playing at all. She told herself she didn't owe her intruder anything.

"I have no idea," she said. "I don't keep track of her."

"You should. Is she eating well? Getting enough sleep?"

"Claire is twenty-eight. She's capable of getting herself food and putting herself to bed." Jeez, no wonder her sister was totally useless. She'd never been allowed to be a real person.

Lisa glared at her. "Claire isn't like the rest of us. She is a gifted artist. If she isn't watched, she'll work herself into the ground. She needs rest. A lot of rest. The last few years have been grueling. There seemed to be a window of opportunity. We had to take advantage of that." She hesitated over her next words. "Claire said it was too much, but I knew what was possible. Now she's at the top. We must do everything we can to keep her there."

Nicole wasn't clear on who this Lisa person was, but she knew she didn't like her.

"There is no 'we' in this."

Lisa ignored that and walked the length of the room. "Do you know if she looked at the schedule I sent? It should have arrived today."

Nicole thought about the FedEx package in the kitchen. "No, she hasn't seen it."

"She can study it tonight. We need to get going if we're going to confirm for this fall. It's already so late, but there were openings. There's so much for her to do. Learn new music, schedule fittings and media events. Publicity is a large part of what we do. There's the travel to set up. It's only thirty concert dates in four months, but still. Preparations must be made."

Thirty concerts in four months? Nicole did the math. That was about a concert every four or five days. If they weren't in the same city, that meant travel to and from. Add in the four hours of practice Lisa seemed to require, along with fittings, interviews and who knows what else, it made for a busy day.

Was that really Claire's life? Constant travel and practice, with the possibly evil Lisa watching over everything?

Nicole remembered Claire telling her that her life was more difficult than it seemed. Not that Nicole was impressed or felt bad or anything. It was still a lot easier than living in the real world.

Lisa crossed to the front window and stared out. "Has she said anything about the recordings?"

"No." What recordings?

"She's been invited to be on several CDs. I know she'll accept the ones for charity. She always does." Lisa seemed annoyed by that fact. "But some of the others would be helpful, too."

Recording sessions in addition to everything else? It made Nicole tired hearing about it.

"At least she gets to see all those cities she travels to," Nicole said, more to herself than to Lisa.

Lisa turned to look at her. "It's not her job to see the cities. It's her job to practice and play and give interviews. Of course she would rather run away. I don't know how I let things get so out of hand."

Lisa walked back to the chair and picked up her coat. "I will not simply stand around waiting for her. Please tell her she can call me on my cell. And that I'm not leaving Seattle until we get this disaster straightened out."

Nicole didn't know what the disaster was and she didn't want to know. Fortunately, Lisa was no longer her problem. She listened to the familiar sound of a car in the driveway.

"Tell her yourself," she said. "She just got home."

"I'M BACK," CLAIRE CALLED as she walked into the kitchen. "Sorry I'm late. Wyatt asked me to join them for dinner, which turned out to be KFC. It's their one fast-food night a week and Amy picked. Have you eaten there? It's really-"

She walked into the living room, saw Lisa standing next to Nicole and instantly wished she hadn't had that extra chicken leg.

"Hello, Claire," Lisa said coolly. "Tell me you didn't actually eat fried chicken."

Lisa had always had the ability to make her feel small and stupid. An apology hovered on her tongue, but she bit it back. She was a grown-up and if she wanted to eat fast food, she would. It was her right.

"Yes, I did. It was delicious."

Lisa pressed her lips together. "What about the diet I gave you? It's nutritionally balanced, with a strong emphasis on soy."

Nicole made a gagging sound, then held up both her hands, palms out. "Sorry. She just showed up. I didn't know what to do."

"It's okay," Claire said. She couldn't hide from Lisa forever. Although it was a lovely daydream.

Lisa ignored the exchange. "I can't begin to tell you how disappointed I am in you, Claire. Disappearing like that, with no warning. Just a voice mail to tell me you were gone. You've been ignoring my calls. Did you think that would work? That I would just go away?"

Claire squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. "I had a family emergency," she said, then prayed Nicole wouldn't pipe in with a stinging comment about how Claire wasn't exactly welcome here.

Fortunately, for once her sister was silent.

Lisa's gaze flickered over Nicole, then returned to her. "Everything seems to be fine on that front. I assume you're returning to New York shortly?"

"I am not."

"What about the fall schedule? It's already half the dates it should be. If you are not out there, people will forget who you are. Brilliance isn't enough. You know that. You know how easily everything can be lost."

It was a message Claire had been hearing for years. She'd once heard a university professor complaining about the "publish or perish" rule. For Claire it was "perform or perish."

"I can't take anything on right now," she said firmly. "I have no idea when I'll be returning to any kind of schedule."

Lisa's eyes widened. "You don't mean that. You can't."

Claire wanted to ask if she remembered what had happened the last time she'd gone on stage. How she'd collapsed and humiliated herself. How the panic had won. But she was too aware of Nicole listening and too ashamed to tell her sister the truth.

"There are people depending on you," Lisa continued. "You are an industry. People's livelihoods are at stake."

Another line Claire had heard dozens of times. Couldn't Lisa get some new material?