"See my name and picture?" she demanded.

He lifted his eyes and glanced at the bracelet. Then he looked at her identification again.

Callie realized, in a distant part of her mind, that this was the longest she'd gone without thinking about Sean since his death. She stuffed that thought aside to dissect it later and said, "If my license is good enough for the state of California, it ought to be good enough for you."

He didn't answer.

Callie fought back another smart comment, deciding if this was a silent battle of wills, she could play. He ignored her credit cards and the crinkled edges of the euros shoved into her wallet. His expression gave no clue to his thoughts.

At long last he said, "You applied for this driver's license less than a year ago."

"It's a renewal." At his renewed silence she couldn't help herself from adding, "It is. I've lived in California since I was twenty. Before I was Callie Cantrell I was Callie Shipley."

"You're married?"

"I'm a widow."

He scowled and instantly his behavior changed. "I know," he said darkly. "I know what you did."

Callie narrowed her gaze at him. "You know I'm not this Teresa you're looking for."

"Then you're her twin."

"Fine," she snapped.

He made a sharp movement with his arm, closed her wallet, and dropped it back into her carryall. "I could almost believe you if I didn't know better," he said. "That lost and miserable act is hard to resist."

"I think you're the kind of person who can't admit they're wrong."

He inclined his head. "Probably. But you have the bracelet."

"I'm not Teresa."

"Where's your son?" he demanded.

Her gut twisted. Carefully, lest emotion got the better of her, she said, "The only son I ever had is dead."

His head jerked up and he gave her a sharp look. "Dead?"

"Don't worry. He's not the boy you're looking for." Her voice was brittle. "He was my son. He has nothing to do with you and this Teresa person. He only mattered to me." She swallowed hard, sensing she could break down if she wasn't careful.

He was watching her with a mixture of fascination and horror, as if he couldn't turn away.

"I don't know you," she insisted. "I don't know the boy you're looking for."

"Why did you come here with me, then?"

"Did I have a choice?" She was outraged. "What are you talking about?"

"You haven't tried to call the police. You didn't want me to go to your place, and you took me all the way to this particular hotel."

"Don't put this on me," Callie said, slightly alarmed.

"You've got some agenda going. If you're not Teresa, you're involved at some level, so start telling the truth."

"I am telling you the truth! I'm Callie Cantrell."

"Okay."

Callie stopped short. "Okay?"

"If you're Callie Cantrell, tell me about her. Convince me you're not the woman who married my brother and had a child with him. You're not the woman who took off after Stephen's death, with the bracelet, maybe to avoid questions about his death."

"What?"

"You're not Teresa DuPres Laughlin, even though you look just like her."

Callie suddenly understood West Laughlin's smoldering anger. Shaken, she said, "I'm not her. I was married to Jonathan Cantrell. We had a son. Sean. Jonathan and Sean both died in a car accident on Mulholland almost exactly a year ago. I have a series of scars down my right side from the same accident that killed them. I've been told I was lucky I survived, but I don't feel lucky. I feel miserable. And lost. And sometimes-most times-I wish I'd died with them." They stared at each other. She could tell her words got to him and added, "I'm sorry about your brother, but I don't know Teresa."

"I just want to find Stephen's son. I want to make sure he's safe."

"I don't believe you."

"What?" He was taken aback.

"I think you're the one with the agenda."

He put his face within inches of hers. "I cared about my brother, and I care about his son."

His voice had lowered to a whisper, but that took nothing away from its intensity. On the contrary, every syllable seemed to hammer into her brain. Callie held his gaze with an effort. The pain in her jaw from the fall had created an overall headache and she wasn't sure how much more of this she could take.

"What's the matter?" he asked suddenly.

"Nothing."

"Don't give me that. You look terrible."

Was that a news bulletin? Of course she looked terrible. He'd frightened her-terrorized her-chased after her and scared her. How could she look any other way?

"Your jaw?" he asked, frowning.

"Yes, my jaw. My whole head hurts. Everything hurts." When West made an impatient gesture, she embellished, "It's killing me," then lifted a hand to cup her chin, wincing a little.

"It's your own fault," he said tersely.

"It's your fault. You tackled me and I went facedown."

"You ran away. I never meant to hurt you."

"As I recall it, you said you wanted to kill me."

"Maybe you should lie down," he said, ignoring her jibe.

"Maybe I should go home?"

He smiled faintly, then sobered as he witnessed her flash of spirit give way to what he thought was pain. He looked down at the table and she sensed he was indecisive about what to do with her. She had a mental image of what he was seeing and understood his doubts. She probably looked like death itself.

"If you're not Teresa, you look enough like her to be her double. And the bracelet . . ." he said, trailing off as the waitress approached their table.

Callie asked for more tea and West ordered the continental breakfast tray for two.

As the waitress left, Callie realized how hungry she was. She'd missed breakfast and now it was lunchtime.

"If Stephen didn't give you the bracelet, where did you get it?" West asked.

Tricky territory. "It was-a gift from a friend."

"What friend?"

"Just someone I know."

"Who?"

"Her name is Aimee," she said, telling a half-truth. As soon as she'd said it she wished she'd come up with something else.

"Aimee," he said doubtfully after a long moment.

"That's right."

He shook his head. "There was an accident on Mulholland last year."

"Yes . . ."

"It just so happens I'm from Los Angeles too."

"Really." She found that faintly disturbing.

"You just decided to vacation on Martinique?"

"I came here on my honeymoon. With Jonathan," she reiterated.

"When was that?"

"Five . . . no, almost six years ago."

A tray of croissants, jellies, b.u.t.ter, and fresh pineapple rings arrived at that moment. Two more tall gla.s.ses of iced tea were put down in front of them and Callie felt her sinking spirits revive at the sight of food.

West didn't touch the tray. He was distant and remote, staring moodily across the water toward Fort-de-France. "You never met Stephen Laughlin?"

"No. I don't know Stephen-your brother, you said?-and I don't know you." Callie plucked up a croissant and began to b.u.t.ter it.

"Half brother," West said.

"Still don't know him."

"There aren't two women who look like you with that bracelet on this island."

"Probably not. But I'm not Teresa. If you don't believe my identification, then, I don't know. . . ." She broke off.

West leaned forward. "What?" he asked softly.

"You can call William Lister, the Cantrell family attorney. He'll tell you who I am. He knows I'm here. I'll give you the number."

"Family attorney, huh?"

"That's right. He'll tell you everything about me you need to know. Are you ready to write this down, or put it on your phone?"

West pulled out his cell phone. "You know your attorney's number by heart?"

"Well, yes," she said.

"You must have a close relationship," he said dryly. "I expected you to pull out your cell phone."

"I don't have a cell phone."

"Really?"

"Not everyone does," she pointed out.

"Yeah, but you look like the kind of woman who would."

"You make a lot of a.s.sumptions. What kind of job do you have?" she asked.

"I'm currently unemployed."

"Really."

He nodded, apparently unwilling to give her any further information. Callie told him the digits, making certain he repeated them back to her. "It's William's office number so his receptionist will probably answer."

"Who gave you the bracelet?" he asked again as he plugged the number into his call list.

"You think I'll have a different answer if you just keep asking?"

He lifted his head and half-smiled. But then he said, "That bracelet's a family heirloom. My grandmother's. And it's been missing since Teresa took off."

Callie didn't know how to respond. No wonder he thought she was Teresa.

Teresa . . .