Reluctantly, Caitlin had agreed to wait until the next day. Marshall usually spoke good sense, she'd discovered, and she had no wish to antagonise him now. She was grateful he'd agreed to come with her. She wasn't sure she could have handled this on her own.

They'd spent the night at a hotel in Prescott. It wasn't a particularly salubrious establishment, and the receptionist had looked downright suspicious when they'd asked for two single rooms. Caitlin could only assume the couples she was used to dealing with shared a double. Or perhaps she resented having to make up two rooms for only one night.

Caitlin hadn't slept well. She'd been too aware of what might happen the next day, and the prospect of seeing Jake again made her feel weak. What if he had only been playing a game? What if he didn't care about her? Or, most disturbing of all, what if he'd only pretended to be attracted to her because he thought she was his wife?

She'd been up before it was light, showering in the tiny bathroom, disturbing Marshall deliberately in the room next door by banging cupboards and drawers. By the time she'd put a call through to his room, he was dressed and ready, and because he knew how apprehensive she was feeling, he'd agreed to drive her out to the sawmill before they had breakfast.

It was supposed to be a reconnoitring expedition. A chance for Marshall to see where they were going, that's all. Or, at least, that was the excuse she had given him. She'd known from his expression that he hadn't been deceived.

The sight of the smoke drove all thought of delaying their arrival out of Caitlin's head. "Can you see that?" she exclaimed as they negotiated a crossroads, and the smell of burning timber came to their nostrils. "Oh, God! What's going on? Do you think Jake's all right?"

Marshall shrugged, but she could see he was concerned. "Who knows?" he said. "I wonder if anyone has called the fire service. If there's still timber lying about, that place must be the biggest fire risk in town."

"But how could it happen?" cried Caitlin, unable to sit still in her agitation. "No, turn here," she directed impatiently. "Can't we go any faster than this?"

"I wonder where there's a phone," murmured Marshall, still concerned about the repercussions, and Caitlin cast him a frustrated look.

"There'll be a phone at the house," she exclaimed, and then realised how insane that sounded. "I mean-let's just get there, shall we? They might need some help."

"That's what I'm afraid of," said Marshall, but he obediently pressed his foot down harder on the accelerator. "How much farther is it? Do you know?"

"Not much farther," Caitlin assured him, praying she had remembered the way correctly. It was one thing to see a pall of smoke-quite another to actually reach it. She felt like a rat in one of those mazes, with the reward it was seeking always out of reach. "There it is," she said at last, as they turned a corner and saw the derelict trading estate ahead of them.

The sawmill was the last lot on the block. They could see the flames now, leaping greedily above the roof line of the house, and Caitlin realised it wasn't the sawmill itself that was on fire as she'd thought.

Her stomach plummeted. Panic was setting in now, and even though Marshall was tearing along the pitted track at more than seventy miles an hour, she felt as if she could have run faster than the speeding car. She was gripped by an awful feeling of apprehension. Jake was in that house. She knew it. She could feel it in her bones.

"Oh, God, I don't believe it!"

Marshall's groan of dismay brought her head round to look at him. "What? What?" she asked impatiently, and he cast a speaking look towards the rear view mirror. Caitlin swung round, unable to comprehend his trepidation, and saw the black-and-white police car racing up behind.

She supposed it must have been flashing its lights and using its siren for some time, but she had been so intent on them reaching their destination, she had neither seen nor heard it. But the signals it was giving off seemed to be all against them, and she put her hands over her head in a gesture of defeat.

"I've got to stop," said Marshall, slowing as the police car swept past them, but although he applied the brakes, the police car didn't. It zoomed on towards the burning building, and he realised, with some irritation, that he'd made a stupid mistake.

His foot found the accelerator again, and Caitlin, who had closed her eyes when she'd thought they were about to be reprimanded, opened them again in disbelief.

"The fire," said Marshall impatiently. "They're going to the fire. We're so involved with our own problems, we haven't considered that other people can see the blaze."

They reached the timber yard just as the two policemen were getting out of their car. The heat was oppressive here, and one of the men gestured to Marshall to park some way back.

"Keep out of the way," he yelled. "Leave it to people who know what they're doing. I know you think you can help, but believe me, you're only in the way."

Caitlin wasn't listening to him. Now that they were here, she had no intention of being driven away. She climbed out of the car, and wrapping her arms about herself, stared up at the burning building. Her instincts were screaming at her that Jake was in there, but what could she do to help him?

"Get back!"

Sparks from the main building were arcing now, spiralling into the yard next door and turning windswept piles of sawdust into smouldering heaps. One of the policemen attempted to take her arm and propel her back to the car, but she pulled away from him. Dear God, she thought, how could anybody still be alive in that inferno? The flames were already licking along the roof.

"The fire department's on its way," said the other policeman, moving closer and surveying the upper floor of the building. "Shit-sorry, miss-but I wonder if the old man was in bed when the fire started. These old guys, they get careless. The cigarette slips from their fingers, and-"

"He didn't-he doesn't smoke," said Caitlin quickly as Marshall came to join them. "When I first got to know Nathan, he once joked that it wasn't wise to smoke in a sawmill, and I know for a fact that Mr Wolfe didn't even like tobacco."

The first policeman gave her a startled look. "You know the old guy?"

"He's her father-in-law," said Marshall, also scanning the upper floor of the building. "And you don't know that he's dead. He might not even be at home."

"Hey, that's a point," said the second man, nodding his approval of this suggestion. "There might be nobody in there, as you say. Sure, the place is dropping to bits, isn't it? It could just be faulty wiring that's caused the fire."

"Yeah, that's right," said his colleague, evidently finding that hypothesis more to his liking. "If there was anyone in there, surely they'd have been trying to get out."

"Unless they were overcome by smoke," said Caitlin tersely, not convinced by that argument, but before she could say anything more, Marshall uttered a startled cry.

"There's someone in there," he exclaimed, pointing towards a room on the ground floor. "I'm sure I saw a movement." He glanced at the two policemen. "There must be something we can do."

"Not until the fire truck gets here," said the first policeman. "Aitken, try and raise them on the radio, will you? They should have been here by now." Then, "Hey-come back!" This, as Caitlin darted towards the entrance to the building. "You can't go in there, miss. It's too dangerous!"

But Caitlin wasn't listening to him. She, too, had seen a movement within the shadowy pall of smoke that filled the ground-floor rooms. She couldn't be sure it was Jake, but whoever it was, she had to try and help them. Why didn't they get out? If they could move around, it wasn't because they couldn't walk.

Marshall overtook her before she reached the smoke-blackened doorway. It was only then that she realised that the door was open. The smoke had been billowing about so much, it hadn't been immediately apparent that they could get inside. But now it added to her fears as to why the occupant- occupants?-of the house hadn't escaped.

"Stay back," Marshall yelled, pushing her towards the policeman who had followed him. "Keep hold of her," he advised the man as he pulled out his handkerchief to protect his nose and mouth. Then, without another word, he plunged through the doorway, ignoring the heat and the sparks that were flying about.

"Is your old man crazy?" demanded the policeman as his partner came running to join them. "Shit-hold her, Aitken, I'm gonna have to go in."

"He's not my old man," said Caitlin, fighting furiously to free herself. "Let me go. I've got to help him, can't you see that?"

"Ain't nothin' you can do, little lady," said Aitken, taking over the job of restraining her from his colleague just as the shed nearest to the main building caught fire. "See, it's dangerous," he added, pulling her back. "You watch what you're doing, O'Hara. There's no sense in getting yourself killed and that's a fact."

The wail of a siren caused both men to turn their heads instinctively. "Thank God," muttered the one called O'Hara, clearly relieved that he wouldn't have to prove himself by going in. "Now, if we let you go, will you leave this to those who know what they're doing? I know you're worried, but they'll have your father-in-law out before you know it."

Caitlin made no promises, but when they let her go, she didn't immediately rush towards the door. She knew that when the fire-fighters arrived, any interference could only be a nuisance. But her hands balled into fists as the huge scarlet truck thundered up the road.

Then, before anybody had time to do anything, she saw three figures emerging through the smoke. One of them was Marshall; she could see that from the handkerchief he was still clutching to his face. But the others were too blackened by smoke to identify immediately.

As they stumbled through the doorway, she realised that Marshall was trying to restrain one of the men from going back into the house. He was struggling against the hold Marshall had on his collar, but for all he was taller than Marshall, he didn't seem to have the strength to fight back.

The other man took off as soon as he emerged into the daylight, stumbling towards the shed that was already beginning to burn. But like the other man and Marshall, he was hampered by lungs already choked with smoke, and after running a few yards, he crumpled to the ground and lay still.

Caitlin started forward, but before she could move more than a few feet, several of the fire-fighters rushed past her carrying hoses. A couple of them peeled off in search of the hydrant, but some veered towards the man who had collapsed. The others surrounded the two men on the path, and she heard them asking if there was anyone else in the house.

"Yes," choked the man Marshall was restraining. His face was streaked with blood, and he seemed to have some difficulty articulating at all. "But I think he's dead," he added, at last succeeding in pushing Marshall away from him. "He's through the back. Do you think you can get him out?"

Caitlin caught her breath. She knew that voice. It was Nathan's. Or was it Jake's? In that moment, she wasn't sure, and the realisation that it could be the man she loved in that back room filled her with despair.

"In back, you say?" The fireman frowned, donning the breathing equipment another of the men had brought for him to wear.

"Yes." Marshall answered him as the man he'd rescued succumbed to a fit of coughing. "Come on," he added, putting his arm about the man's shoulders. "Let's get you away from all this smoke."

They came towards Caitlin absurdly slowly, stopping every now and then to allow the man to try and clear his lungs. But it was obvious he'd inhaled a lot of smoke, and the effort seemed to leave him dizzy. In any event, he obviously needed Marshall's assistance to move at all.

Caitlin watched them with varying degrees of apprehension. It wasn't that she wished Nathan dead, she told herself, but if this blackened figure was Nathan, who was that lying on the ground? He was being attended to by one of the other firemen, and she was anxious to go and speak to him. But she waited for Marshall to tell her what was going on.

"What's happened?" she asked, unable to restrain herself any longer, and Marshall, who hadn't inhaled as much smoke and who had obviously recovered that much quicker, allowed the man he was supporting to slide gently to the ground.

"God!" Marshall shook his head. "When I got into the house, Jake was trying to get Nathan-" he jerked his thumb towards the man farthest away from them "- to help him carry his father outside. But Nathan couldn't wait to get out of there. He said-Jake-had started the fire, but I don't think he could. For one thing, he's been shot. See..." He bent towards the man who had collapsed full-length on the gravelled forecourt, and pointed towards his temple. "He's very weak. He's lost a lot of blood."

Caitlin stared at the man on the ground. "How do you know this is Jake?" she asked unsteadily. "It could be either one of them beneath all that soot."

"Because Nathan was only interested in saving his own skin," replied Marshall in a low voice. "He couldn't wait to tell me that his father had shot Jake, but I don't know if that's true, either."

"Oh, God!"

Ignoring the other man now, Caitlin knelt beside Jake, touching his cheek and running helpless fingers along his jaw. At least he was alive, she thought, uncaring at that moment who was to blame for his injuries. If only he would open his eyes. She had to know that he was going to be all right.

A trickle of blood ran down his cheek, and she saw that the wound was still seeping. It created a vivid splash of colour against his smoke-blackened cheek. His clothes were filthy, too, and she could only imagine what he had been doing. Dear God, what might have happened if Marshall hadn't intervened?

His eyes opened as she was bending over him, and as if suddenly realising where he was, he struggled to sit up. "Are you all right?" she asked as an ambulance whined into the melee, and Jake closed his eyes for a moment before giving her a weary look.

"I guess so," he said at last. Then, "your husband's over there, you know. I'm not Nathan. I'm Jake. His twin brother."

"I know." Caitlin's response seemed to startle him, and she hurried into a garbled explanation. "We found out. Lisa Abbott came to see me. Marshall knows, as well. Oh, Jake..." She caught her breath. "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?"

Jake was still staring at her with stunned eyes, when there was a protesting yell from across the yard. The man who had been left to attend to Nathan had evidently gone to meet the paramedics, and in his absence, his patient had staggered to his feet. Now they all watched in horror as Nathan stumbled towards the shed, and although several of the men started after him, it was obvious they weren't going to reach him in time.

"For God's sake, Nathan, leave it!"

Jake's hoarse cry must have reached his brother, but Nathan wasn't listening to him. Shaking his head as if to clear it, he disappeared inside, just seconds before a loud blast shook the ground round them. The shed exploded in a ball of flame, sending wood and metal flying in all directions. Then an ominous silence fell as the fire-fighters all stopped what they were doing to stare at the blaze.

"Shit," Caitlin heard someone say as if from a distance, "there must have been a vehicle in there."

"Yeah," said someone else. "He must have been trying to save it. Goddammit, he didn't stand a chance!"

26.

Jake drove home in the warm twilight of a spring evening.

He was glad to be out of the office; glad to be away from his desk and able to pull his tie free of his collar and toss his suit jacket into the back of the car. He felt both tired and weary, which were not the same thing at all. Tired of the unending stream of flawed humanity that passed through his door, and weary, with a bone weariness, of trying to pretend he had a life.

This time of year used to be his favourite, with the dogwoods blooming and the first lush growth of the season turning the golf course next to the apartment complex a rich shade of green, and he usually felt expectant and optimistic. The winter was over-as much of a winter as they got in North Carolina anyway-and the sweltering heat of summer was still some distance away.

But this year was different. This year he felt no sense of expectancy, no air of optimism that his life was satisfactorily on track. Not even the unexpected offer of a partnership could lift his spirits-an opportunity to be his own master, with the option to accept a case or not, as he chose.

There was no doubt that Dane Meredith's proposition had come out of the blue. Because Jake worked mainly for the public defender's office, and Meredith spent his time representing the more affluent members of the community, they had never confronted one another across a court-room. The idea that Jake's reputation for hard work and integrity might have come to the distinguished lawyer's ears was flattering. Meredith's name was a byword in Pine Bay and the surrounding area, and nine months ago, he knew, he'd have jumped at the chance. It was the kind of opportunity most young lawyers dreamed about: independence, and the support of an established firm behind him.

It was an offer he'd be a fool to reject, but the prospect of establishing himself here seemed to represent an acceptance of his present situation, and right at this moment, he didn't even know what he wanted to do.

Once, he would have said he was quite content to stay in Pine Bay. He was not without ambition, but the idea of using his talents, such as they were, for the benefit of his fellow citizens had seemed a fair compromise to him. He wasn't interested in earning fantastic sums of money, and he liked knowing the people he was dealing with.

It was true, he was ready for a change of direction, but he was no longer sure he wanted to stay here. Maybe a change of location would give him what his work could not: a rekindling of his own self-worth, of there being some purpose to his life-something he seemed to have lost in the six months since his father and his brother had died.

He sighed, refusing to acknowledge that there was more to his uncertainty than a lingering grief that the only male blood relations he had had in the world were dead. Any other regrets he had were just that: regrets. There was nothing he could do about them; no way he could change the past or undo the things that had been done. It was over now; they had all moved on, and he was only delaying the inevitable by pretending that anything more could come of it.

But when he reached the apartment complex, he didn't immediately get out of the car. Instead, he rested his forearms on the wheel and stared unseeingly towards the ocean.

The mournful cry of the sea birds scavenging among the sand-dunes suited his mood, and he felt an overwhelming sense of melancholy.

Caitlin, he groaned inwardly. God, Caitlin, tell me what I'm going to do.

He wished he didn't have to go into the apartment and face Fletch. It wasn't that he didn't want to meet the old devil, and he'd been glad enough to see him when he first got out of the hospital. Hell, he'd considered himself so lucky that the old man was well again, and the horror he'd experienced when he'd first heard that Fletch had had a stroke still had the power to chill his bones.

Fletch had told him how he had surprised Nathan by being at the apartment. He hadn't gone into details, but Jake could guess at the old man's fury at meeting his brother there. Particularly after Jacob had been to see him and told him he had been in the hospital in New York. Fletch had never trusted Nathan, and he was bound to have suspected Nathan's motives for coming to Pine Bay.

Nevertheless, Nathan had had no right to hit him, even if Fletch had admitted that he'd invited the punch that had brought on his seizure. His brother should have realised that Fletch was old and frail these days, and not half as robust as he'd like everyone to believe.

He grimaced. He never thought he'd ever have cause to be grateful to the old janitor. He used to think the old man was a pain, snooping round the complex, spying on everyone who came into the building. But without his ever-vigilant inspection, the unlocked door to Jake's condo would not have been noticed, and Fletch would undoubtedly have died if he hadn't had immediate attention.

Jake expelled a pained breath. Christ, he thought, not for the first time, no wonder Nathan had looked so shocked to see him. He must have been terrified that Jake had been to the apartment and found Fletch's body. For he had no doubt that Nathan had believed the old man was dead.

He wondered if Nathan would have called 911 if he'd thought Fletch was only unconscious. Jake preferred not to speculate about that. They'd never know what Nathan might have done if he'd realised Fletch was still alive. As far as Fletch was concerned, the incident was better forgotten.

For his part, Jake was simply grateful his father had survived. He still blamed himself for indirectly involving the old man in Nathan's activities in the first place, and although Fletch would have none of it, the fact remained he was lucky to be alive.

Jake's own problems had been a little less easy to cope with.

It was strange, really. He'd been shot; he'd found his father's dead body in a burning house; and he'd watched his brother blown to pieces in an explosion. Yet he'd been able to attend their funerals without turning a hair. He was sure someone must have commented on his coolness, his self-possession; and if it hadn't been for his concern for Fletch, people might have been forgiven for thinking he didn't have any feelings at all.

He'd attended to everything himself, declining Marshall's offer to help with a confidence that made him cringe now. It was what his father would have expected, he'd assured him, whether that was true or not. It was his place, as the only surviving member of the family. He didn't consider Caitlin's rights or otherwise. It was important for him to keep busy. He didn't remember sleeping at all until the funerals were over.

Caitlin's father and mother did not attend the ceremonies. They sent their condolences, but they had the perfect excuse for refusing to come. Matthew Webster's doctor had advised him to rest after the shock of learning of his son-in-law's death, and besides, the journey would have been too arduous for him.

A young couple came out of the building behind him and walked across the parking lot to their car. The woman recognised him and raised her hand in greeting as they passed, but Jake guessed they must both be wondering why he was sitting here instead of going inside.

Sighing, he propped his chin on his folded wrists.

What had Caitlin thought about his behaviour? he wondered. Like everyone else, she had obviously been horrified by the way her husband died. But when the shock was over, what had she thought of him, Jake, for betraying her? For deceiving her, and seducing her, and pretending they had a future?

He expelled an anguished breath.