"How can you be so sure?" she asked suddenly. "What makes you so certain that this is my mother? That this is my family?"

"Aside from the resemblance?"

"It could be a coincidence, nothing more."

She said it earnestly and yet she didn't believe it. He could hear it in her voice, in the way it wavered between hunger and hurt. There was too much mystery and darkness about his story-too much of the same about her own-for her to be joyous over the news of a lost family suddenly found. But he could see the longing there inside her, knew instinctively that she'd waited her whole life for someone to walk through the door and tell her she wasn't alone.

"It's no coincidence, Danni," he said, forcing the words past his guilt. "It's the truth I'm telling you. Have you not a birthmark, right here?"

He took her left hand in his, turning it as he gently pushed the sleeve of her sweater up to reveal the pale skin on the other side. There, just below the crook, was the faint pink rose-shaped pattern he sought. His grandmother had said it would be there, but some part of him had doubted it. He was a fool, to be certain.

Danni bent her head to stare at the birthmark, and the soft, clean scent of her hair seemed to wrap him in a warm and unexpected intimacy. He brushed the small mark with his thumb, thinking her skin felt like heated satin. She jerked slightly, as if she, too, had felt the electricity in the touch. Her face was close to his, their heads bent together.

"It's a family mark," he murmured, looking into her eyes. She stared back, hesitant, as aware as he of the current that traveled through that small point of contact.

He had the sudden desire to lean closer still, to press his mouth to the erratic pulse beating at her throat. To let his hands skim up and under the blue sweater to the soft curves it hid. For a moment, he considered actually doing it and the idea started a fire burning deep inside him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so caught up in a woman. She was blushing again; no doubt his thoughts were there in the heat of his gaze. A part of him was glad. As wrong, as inconvenient as this attraction was, he wanted her to know. Needed her to feel it, too.

Flustered, she tugged her arm free and pulled down her sleeve, hiding the pink flower. "Ten percent of all babies are born with birthmarks," she said coolly. But her breath hitched at the end, betraying her.

"Not that birthmark."

He watched the play of emotion on her face. Hope, disbelief, and that heartbreaking anguish. She took a sip of her tea, shifting under his steady gaze.

"Is this for real? Are you for real?"

"I am."

She gave a small nod of acceptance and then asked, "So my father . . . he's still alive?"

"Aye," he answered. "Living in Ballyfionuir."

"And does he know you've found me?"

"Not yet. I wanted to be sure first."

"And you are now?"

"Absolutely."

He paused for a moment, pulling his thoughts away from the light scent of her skin back to the matter at hand. He was here for a reason that had nothing to do with the way the sun spilling through the window turned her hair into a flame of a thousand colors or his need to touch it.

"Is there anything at all you remember about your childhood?" he asked softly. "About Ireland or the night you left there?"

She shook her head. "Nothing before my mom disappeared."

"Well, let me tell you a bit, then. You're from a very old family, Danni. And from a place that's filled with lore. It's in the air, the water. Living here, you probably can't grasp what that entails, but there are things that happen on the Isle of Fennore that happen nowhere else in the world."

A bemused smile tilted the corners of her mouth. "I come from an old family?"

He nodded. "It's thought that your ancestors-mine, too-were ancient Druids. Fearsome people. People who possessed powers uncommon to the ordinary man or woman."

The smile widened a little. "My ancestors were superheroes?"

He smiled back, but knew it didn't reach his eyes. "Have you never felt it, then? Never known something before it happened? Never felt that you were special?"

Her smile faltered and she dropped her gaze to her tea. "No. I've never felt special." Standing, she took her cup to the sink and rinsed it. Her back was straight, her chin raised, but he could almost feel the old wounds inside her open up.

"Your island sounds like a magical place," she said lightly, turning with a bright smile that cut him to the bone. He knew it cost her, that smile.

"You should come see it," he said.

It was the opening he wanted, but still he felt reluctant as he reached in his envelope and pulled out the last item. It was a thick packet of papers secured by a rubber band. On the top sheet was an itinerary with a logo imprinted in the corner of a ship and airplane emerging from a bank of clouds. Written on the top was Danni's name. Sean hadn't wanted to buy the tickets before he met Danni, but his grandmother had purchased them already and insisted he bring them. She'd insisted on everything. So far she'd been right.

He pushed the packet across the table and waited for Danni to retrieve it. She lifted the papers curiously, staring with a frown for a moment before her eyes widened in surprise.

"Are these tickets? With my name on them? Tickets to Ireland? And . . . These are one-way, for heaven's sake. For Friday. This Friday."

"I thought you'd want to leave as soon as possible," he told her. "And I wasn't sure when you'd want to return. It seemed easier to book that part later. We don't intend to keep you there. Unless, of course, that's what you want."

"What I want . . ." she trailed off, overwhelmed. Like a child reaching for a security blanket, she bent down and scooped up the strange dog, holding it close in her protective arms. The creature stared at her with adoration as she stroked its fur, looking somehow like a cornered animal herself, desperate to find a way out. He didn't understand this response any more than he had her others.

"Have you a passport?"

"Yes, but . . ."

"But what? Is it not what you've wished for, Danni? To know who you are and where you come from?"

Those huge eyes lifted to stare into his, giving him the perfect view into her soul. It was a lovely thing, pure and hopeful and so very vulnerable. He cursed himself, but he didn't look away. In his pocket, the jewelry box seemed to thrum, demanding he take it out and give it to her now. This was the time, he knew. But it felt too much like a betrayal and he couldn't do it.

Swallowing his shame, he simply said, "It's time for you to come home Dairinn MacGrath. What's left of your family needs you."

Chapter Three.

DANNI closed the front door behind Sean and then leaned against it, listening for the sound of an engine driving away to signal that he was gone, but it never came. Half expecting that she'd find him still standing on her porch, she cracked the blinds and peeked out. She didn't see him, but felt the need to open the door and look again. Nothing but the rustling leaves in the trees and the frantic chirping of birds waited outside. Disconcerted by the lingering sense of him, she shut the door again and locked it.

He'd been real this time. She let out a shaky breath. Very real.

And even though a part of her had expected him, anticipated and dreaded his appearance with equal measures, she still couldn't believe it.

In the flesh he'd been even more compelling than he was in the vision. She'd felt the pull of him, even as warning signals were going off in her head. Even as she questioned the fantastic tale he'd told. There was something that didn't ring true about Sean Ballagh. A subtext to his message that she hadn't been able to grasp. The sense that what he hadn't said could be more important than what he had.

For a moment the sun dimmed and she thought of the vision, of the cavern where she'd seen her mother arguing with whoever had stood in the shadows. Was her vision from the night they'd disappeared? Is that why it had felt like a memory? And what about the grave, that gaping hole in the sea of green? Her own body crumpled inside it beside the adolescent boy's? What could it mean?

Overwhelmed by her own knotted feelings and questions, she went back to the kitchen, shoving the picture, the newspaper clipping, and the tickets back into the envelope. It was nearly nine and she should have left for work already. It was her day to open the antique store she managed with Yvonne Hearne-foster mother, con fidant, friend, and employer all rolled into one.

Quickly she cleared Sean's cup and saucer, adding it to the sink with her own. He hadn't drunk any of his tea. Probably he would have preferred coffee. She'd remember that.

It was this thought-perhaps more than any other-that stopped her. She'd remember because she would see him again. She was going to Ireland with him. To meet her family . . . a family she had no recollection of.

How was it she could recall the feeling of flying she'd had as a child when the air would turn and a vision would come, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't remember her parents, her brother, her life before Arizona? She hadn't even recognized her own mother at first when she'd seen her in the vision this morning. Danni had been five when she'd been dumped at preschool that day. Surely that was old enough to remember something of her life before. But she didn't. Not any of it.

In the years after her mother had dropped her off and vanished, there'd been counseling and intensive therapy. For the first six months after she'd been abandoned, Danni hadn't spoken at all. They chalked it up to the trauma of her circumstances. Decided she must have been abused before being deserted, presumed she was a victim of much more than rejection. Over the years she'd come to think they were right. What else would make a five-year-old kid shut up for half a year?

She'd never known anything about who she was. And the blank page of her ignorance had itself become her past. She'd learned to live with it. But the shadowy glimpse Sean had given her of who she might have been had cracked that illusion. She had history. A life before Cactus Wren Preschool.

She wouldn't discount what she'd seen in the vision-the terror in the cavern or the bodies in the grave-but neither would she base her decisions on it, because she didn't yet know what it all meant. Death was a metaphorical thing, wasn't it? The precursor to rebirth in every myth she'd ever read. And besides, what Sean had said was true. Finding her family, knowing who she was-it was what she'd wished for her whole life. Nothing else really mattered.

SHE arrived at Older than Dirt Antiques a few minutes late, glad no customers were waiting to get in. Quickly she unlocked the doors, disabled the alarm, and opened all the blinds. Bright sunlight filtered in through the UV-screened windows. It was blue-hair season-the time of year when all the geriatrics flocked south to the milder climates for the winter-and it was the shop's busiest time. The sales they'd make in the next few months would keep them solvent through the long, sizzling summer when their only customers were natives who could withstand the triple-digit temperatures.

Yvonne would be in later, and Danni was both looking forward to telling her everything and dreading it at the same time. When Danni was sixteen she'd been placed in Yvonne's home as a foster child. After eleven years as a ward of the state, eleven years of being shuffled from one foster family to another, Danni came to Yvonne with the expectation that she'd soon be leaving. There was something wrong with Danni, something about her that kept her from ever fitting in. At least that's what she'd learned to believe when one family after another sent her back into the foster system. There was no reason to think Yvonne Hearne wouldn't be more than just another in a long line of disappointments.

But Yvonne turned out to be different from all the others. She'd raised six kids, outlived three husbands and two of her own sons, and seemed to know what Danni was feeling before Danni did herself. And for whatever reason, they got each other.

From Yvonne, Danni learned about trust and responsibility. She also learned the fine art of treasure hunting. Danni had come to love the antique business and the challenge of finding the lost pieces of a set. A shrink would say her affinity for the missing stemmed from Danni's feeling that they were just like her-scattered parts of a whole which had been separated, lost and alone, abandoned by families who no longer cherished them. Each time she recovered the absent chair to a dining room ensemble or rescued the last saucer in a tea set, she felt as if she were restoring a small part of herself. Stupid and a little nuts, but it was what it was.

Yvonne would be happy for her, but she'd also be worried. Who could blame her? Danni was thinking of flying halfway around the world on the word of a man who had appeared from nowhere. She touched her arm where the birthmark was, thinking for the thousandth time about the way his thumb had rubbed across it, sparking a myriad of sensations that had zinged through her veins. And the look in his eyes when he'd watched her . . . He'd known about the birthmark, he'd brought a picture of her family, and he'd already purchased tickets. If he wasn't for real, he wouldn't have gone to the trouble and expense of paying for the tickets, would he?

Working quickly, Danni balanced the register from yesterday and set it up for today's business. She tried to keep her thoughts focused on what she was doing, but she kept going over in her head everything Sean had said. She had a father who'd searched for her all these years. She had people who lived on some fantasy island where everyone was family, one way or another. It was unbelievable and wonderful.

As she replayed all Sean had told her, the man himself kept creeping into her mind, and she'd found herself staring into space, thinking of his eyes, the deep, husky tone of his voice . . . the elusive scent of him-soap and rain and heat all mixed with something intimately male and stirring. Even as he'd told her his incredible news, she'd been lost in that seductive scent.

Finally she finished her opening tasks and brought her laptop from her office to the front of the store where she could keep an eye on things while she did some research. Perched on the stool behind the counter, she launched the Internet and opened a Google window. For a moment she stared at the search box and then typed in Dairinn MacGrath. Zero hits came back. She tried again, using her mother's name with a bit more success, but her quick scan of the results showed nothing more than Sean had already told her. Not surprising, really. She'd gone missing over twenty years ago, before the Internet had become the end-all source for information.

Trying to decide what to use in the next search, Danni had a prickling sensation whisper up her spine and settle at the back of her neck. She glanced up, caught a movement at the window from the corner of her eye, and nearly jumped out of her skin when she turned. Sean was standing on the other side of the glass, looking in at her. For a moment, she could only stare at him, captured at once by the harsh beauty of his features and the beseeching look in his eyes.

He wore faded jeans and a crisp white shirt that was made without a collar. It opened with three buttons in front and hugged his broad shoulders and tapered to lean hips. He wasn't bulky, like a bodybuilder. He was more graceful than that. Somehow he reminded her of a warrior from days of yore, someone whose livelihood depended on his agility as well as his might. For the hundredth time, she thought of that almost kiss in the vision.

For God's sake, she was pathetic.

He held something, a small green box, and he turned it over and over in his hands as he watched her. She didn't think he was even aware that he did it. She gave him a shaky smile and waved for him to come in, but he didn't move, didn't acknowledge her greeting. What was he thinking about? What put that dark, pensive expression on his face?

She scooted off the stool and went to the door. But when she stepped outside and looked to where he stood, he was gone.

She took another step out, scanning the sidewalk and street. No cars pulled from the curb, no taillights flashed in the distance. And no one was walking away.

The realization hit her hard. Had she imagined seeing him? Conjured his image from her thoughts? Or had he been as unreal as he'd been earlier, in the vision? Could the air have turned without her even knowing it?

Shaken, she went back inside the shop, glancing over her shoulder and out the windows as she sat down in from of her monitor. He definitely wasn't standing outside anymore, but now she was uncertain if he'd ever been there at all.

He'd been real when he'd come to her door, though, she reassured herself. She had the envelope he'd left to prove it. She pulled it from her purse and dumped the contents on the counter. Real, she said silently. Feeling better, she took the itinerary Sean had given her and, double-checking the spelling, typed Ballyfionuir, Ireland, in the Internet search engine on her computer. A jackpot of links appeared on her screen.

She began clicking and skimming her way down the list, finding tourist information about Ireland in general-complete with pictures, hotels, and pub guides, but not much about Ballyfionuir exclusively. One website displayed a map that showed the jagged outline of southern Ireland. A tiny island lay just off the coast like the dot at the end of an exclamation mark. The Isle of Fennore was written above it. A black arrow pointed to a star on the most eastern edge of the island and identified the location as Ballyfionuir. Below the map were a few facts about it.

The Isle of Fennore was a mixture of lush valleys and rocky terrain, surrounded by the fierce sea, which was the source of the island's main industry. An abundance of fish thrived in the sheltered coves on the island's southern shores, and some of the region's best salmon could be found there.

The people who lived on the Isle of Fennore clung to the old ways in all they did-so much so that attempts to bridge the treacherous sea between the island and the mainland had been met with fierce opposition. They didn't want strangers crossing over at will and they didn't care if that meant the convenience of going the other way would also be denied. They also refused to allow larger ships or commuters to dock in their port, relying solely on a family-owned ferry to carry them across when necessity drove them from the island. Danni got the distinct impression that nothing short of a crisis qualified as necessity.

Isolated as it was, Ballyfionuir was considered by some to be the last bastion of traditional Ireland.

There was a small photograph of a forbidding shoreline, fortified with sharp rocks and a steep cliff. In the distance the remains of a crumbling tower and disintegrating stone walls stood in the gloom of a gathering storm. She stared at it, thinking of the cold wind that had whipped Sean's leather jacket as she'd followed him to the cavern, and she shivered.

The bell over the door chimed and two women entered with children in tow. Danni gave a mental groan. Children and antiques never made good companions. Closing the lid on her laptop and storing it under the counter, Danni forced a smile and went to assist-or run interference if necessary. The women were deep in conversation and refused her offer of help, so Danni hung back, trying to appear unobtrusive while remaining watchful.

"Twenty quid says the kid with scabs on his knees breaks something before he leaves."

The deep voice speaking in her ear startled a squeak out of her. She spun to find Sean standing just behind her, close enough to touch. "When did you come in?" she demanded, hand at her throat.

"While you were busy stalking your customers," he answered with a grin.

The grin caught her by surprise. When she'd seen him standing on her porch this morning, smiling with the two dimples etched in his cheeks, she almost hadn't recognized him. He'd never smiled in the vision and it completely changed his features. But Sean Ballagh was a man hard to mistake, no matter what he was doing.

"I saw you earlier," she said. "At the window. Why didn't you come in?"

"You looked busy," he said.

She hoped she was able to hide her relief. She hadn't dreamed him up.

"Did you need something?" she asked.

"I thought you might have some questions," he said. "And I left without telling you when you'd see me again."

She nodded, tilting her head back so she could look him in the eye. He was easily over six feet, and every inch of him was packed with hard sinew and definition. She could see the muscles flexing when he moved, sensed the power that lurked beneath the casual clothing. She wondered what he did to keep himself in such amazing shape.

She realized he was watching her stare at him and felt her face flush with hot embarrassment.

"I-uh. I did think of something I wanted to ask you, how-you never said exactly how you found me."

His gaze lingered on her face for a moment longer, and she felt that familiar clenching down low inside her. That he could do that just with a glance frightened her nearly as much as the visions.

"It was a strange coincidence, truth be told. I saw you on the television."

Danni's brows pulled together. "What? I've never been on TV."

"It was the news. Some time ago. You were at hospital."

Frowning, Danni caught her lip between her teeth . . . and then she remembered. A few months ago, Yvonne had lost her eldest and her youngest son to the war in Iraq. Soon after, she'd followed the tragedy with a heart attack that nearly killed her, too. The media had declared her the face of the American tragedy and tried to finish her off with their cameras, microphones, and endless questions. Danni had been furious when she arrived at Yvonne's hospital room one day to find a local news team trying to bring in their cameras, uncaring that they were prying at a wound still raw and painful.

Outraged, Danni had protested the intrusion, which only led them to investigate who she was. They'd run their story, including a segment on Danni, the foster child who'd been saved by Yvonne Hearne, grieving mother and widow. News had been slow that week and the feature was picked up by the channel's national affiliate and run on the TODAY show. The phone had rung excessively for days after and business at the store had doubled. Fortunately, by that time Yvonne's daughters had arrived from their homes in Denver and Boston to help.

"And that's what led you to me?" she said to Sean.